~ . 
Aine atm entre ne 


ag ne 


~ 
a 
_ 
< 


' ; pelart le & I 
PatAti LE) early | ie 

: Ttpbe 4 | j 

‘ i btete yi t bad + 
i Wak alia phatk Het 

HH i} Metrtel te } 

\ 4 
har ek A EERE 

sy itt. a ava be ‘ 


iil 


ty 
‘aa 




















GNOOAD) 


The Eye of Osiris 


A Detective Story by 
R. Austin Freeman 








FRONT PAGE MYSTERIES 
Second Series 


P. F. Collier & Son Company - New York 





COND 









f ‘ # 
CopyricHt, 1911, BY 
DODD, MEAD & COMP. 
Printed in the United States of 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


I, 
II. 


. JoHN THORNDYKE 


THE VANISHING MAN 


THE EAVESDROPPER 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 


. THe WATER-CREssS BED 
. SIDELIGHTS 
. JOHN BELLINGHAM’s WILL 


Rom MIUSBUMOIDYLL... 6 ws 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’s INN . 


. THE NEw ALLIANCE . 
. THE EvIDENCE REVIEWED 
. A VoYAGE oF DISCOVERY . 
. THE CORONER’S QUEST 


. WHIcH CARRIES THE READER INTO THE PRo- 


BATE COURT . 


. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE . 
. O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! . 
. THe AccusING FINGER 

. JOHN BELLINGHAM 

. A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 


. THe END or THE CASE 





Neils i 











CHAPTER I 


THE VANISHING MAN 


Tue school of St. Margaret’s Hospital was fortunate 
in its lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence, or Forensic 
Medicine, as it is sometimes described. At some 
schools the lecturer on this subject is appointed ap- 
parently for the reason that he lacks the qualifications 
to lecture on any other. But with us it was very differ- 
ent: John Thorndyke was not only an enthusiast, a man 
of profound learning and great reputation, but he.was 
an exceptional teacher, lively and fascinating in style 
and of endless resources. Every remarkable case that 
had ever been reported he appeared to have at his 
fingers’ ends; every fact—chemical, physical, biologi- 
cal, or even historical—that could in any way be twisted 
into a medico-legal significance, was pressed into his 
service; and his own varied and curious experiences 
seemed as inexhaustible as the widow’s cruse. One of 
his favorite devices for giving life and interest to a 
rather dry subject was that of analyzing and comment- 
ing upon contemporary cases as reported in the papers 
(always, of course, with a due regard to the legal and 
social proprieties); and it was in this way that I first 
became introduced to the astonishing series of events 
that was destined to exercise so great an influence on 
my own life. 

The lecture which had just been concluded had dealt 
with the rather unsatisfactory subject of survivorship. 
I 


2 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Most of the students had left the theater, and the re- 
mainder had gathered round the lecturer’s table to listen 
to the informal comments that Dr. Thorndyke was 
wont to deliver on these occasions in an easy, conversa- 
tional manner, leaning against the edge of the table and 
apparently addressing his remarks to a stick of black- 
board chalk that he held in his fingers. 

“The problem of survivorship,” he was saying, in 
reply to a question put by one of the students, “‘ordi- 
narily occurs in cases where the bodies of the parties 
are producible, or where, at any rate, the occurrence of 
death and its approximate time are actually known. 
But an analogous difficulty may arise in a case where © 
the body of one of the parties is not forthcoming, and 
the fact of death may have to be assumed on collateral 
evidence. 

“Here, of course, the vital question to be settled is, 
what is the latest instant at which it is certain that this 
person was alive? And the settlement of that question 
may turn on some circumstance of the most trivial and 
insignificant kind. There is a case in this morning’s 
paper which illustrates this. A gentleman has disap- 
peared rather mysteriously. He was last seen by the 
servant of a relative at whose house he had called. 
Now, if this gentleman should never reappear, dead 
or alive, the question as to what was the latest mo- 
ment at which he was certainly alive will turn upon the 
further question: ‘Was he or was he not wearing a 
particular article of jewelry when he called at the 
relative’s house?’ ” 

He paused with a reflective eye bent upon the stump 
of chalk he still held; then, noting the expectant in- 
terest with which we were regarding him, he resumed: 

“The circumstances in this case are very curious; in 


THE VANISHING MAN 3 


fact, they are highly mysterious; and if any legal issues 
should arise in respect of them, they are likely to yield 
some very remarkable complications. The gentleman 
who has disappeared, Mr. John Bellingham, is a man 
well known in archeological circles. He recently re- 
turned from Egypt, bringing with him a very fine col- 
lection of antiquities—some of which, by the way, he 
has presented to the British Museum, where they are 
-now on view—and having made this presentation, he 
appears to have gone to Paris on business. I may men- 
tion that the gift consisted of a very fine mummy and a 
complete set of tomb-furniture. The latter, however, 
had not arrived from Egypt at the time when the miss- 
ing man left for Paris, but the mummy was inspected on 
the fourteenth of October at Mr. Bellingham’s house 
by Dr. Norbury of the British Museum, in the presence 
of the donor and his solicitor, and the latter was author- 
ized to hand over the complete collection to the British 
Museum authorities when the tomb-furniture arrived; 
which he has since done. 

“From Paris he seems to have returned on the 
twenty-third of November, and to have gone direct to 
Charing Cross to the house of a relative, a Mr. Hurst, 
who is a bachelor and lives at Eltham. He appeared 
at the house at twenty minutes past five, and as Mr. 
Hurst had not yet come down from town and was not 
expected until a quarter to six, he explained who he 
was and said he would wait in the study and write 
some letters. The housemaid accordingly showed him 
into the study, furnished him with writing materials, 
and left him. 

“At a quarter to six Mr. Hurst let himself in with 
his latchkey, and before the housemaid had time to 


4 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


speak to him he had passed through into the study and 
shut the door. 

“At six o’clock, when the dinner bell was rung, Mr. 
Hurst entered the dining-room alone, and observing 
that the table was laid for two, asked the reason. 

“*T thought Mr. Bellingham was staying to dinner, 
sir,’ was the housemaid’s reply. 

‘Mr. Bellingham!’ exclaimed the astonished host. 
‘I didn’t know he was here. Why was I not told?’ 

** *T thought he was in the study with you, sir,’ said 
the housemaid. 

“On this a search was made for the visitor, with the 
result that he was nowhere to be found. He had dis- 
appeared without leaving a trace, and what made the 
incident more odd was that the housemaid was certain 
that he had not gone out by the front door. For since 
neither she nor the cook was acquainted with Mr. John 
Bellingham, she had remained the whole time either in 
the kitchen, which commanded a view of the front gate, 
or in the dining-room, which opened into the hall op- 
posite the study door. The study itself has a French 
window opening on a narrow grass plot, across which is 
a side-gate that opens into an alley; and it appears that 
Mr. Bellingham must have made his exit by this rather 
eccentric route. At any rate—and this is the important 
fact—he was not in the house, and no one had seen 
him leave it. 

“After a hasty meal Mr. Hurst returned to town and 
called at the office of Mr. Bellingham’s solicitor and 
confidential agent, a Mr. Jellicoe, and mentioned the 
matter to him. Mr. Jellicoe knew nothing of his client’s 
return from Paris, and the two men at once took the 
train down to Woodford, where the missing man’s 
brother, Mr. Godfrey Bellingham, lives. The servant 


THE VANISHING MAN 5 


who admitted them said that Mr. Godfrey was not at 
home, but that his daughter was in the library, which 
is a detached building situated in a shrubbery beyond 
the garden at the back of the house. Here the two men 
found, not only Miss Bellingham, but also her father, 
who had come in by the back gate. 

“Mr. Godfrey and his daughter listened to Mr. 
Hurst’s story with the greatest surprise, and assured 
him that they had neither seen nor heard anything of 
John Bellingham. 

“Presently the party left the library to walk up to the 
house; but only a few feet from the library door Mr. 
Jellicoe noticed an object lying in the grass and pointed 
it out to Mr. Godfrey. 

“The latter picked it up, and they all recognized it 
as a scarab which Mr. John Bellingham had been ac- 
customed to wear suspended from his watch-chain. 
There was no mistaking it. It was a very fine scarab of 
the eighteenth dynasty fashioned of lapis lazuli and 
engraved with the cartouche of Amenhotep III. It had 
been suspended by a gold ring fastened to a wire which 
passed through the suspension hole, and the ring, 
though broken, was still in position. 

“This discovery of course only added to the mystery, 
which was still further increased when, on inquiry, a 
suit-case bearing the initials J. B. was found to be un- 
claimed in the cloak-room at Charing Cross. Reference 
to the counterfoil of the ticket-book showed that it had 
been deposited about the time of the arrival of the Con- 
tinental express on the twenty-third of November, so 
that its owner must have gone straight on to Eltham. 

“That is how the affair stands at present, and, should 
the missing man never reappear or should his body 
never be found, the question, as you see, which will be 


6 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


required to be settled is, ‘What is the exact time and 
place, when and where, he was last known to be alive!’ 
As to the place, the importance of the issues involved in 
that question is obvious and we need not consider 
it. But the question of time has another kind of 
significance. Cases have occurred, as I pointed out in 
the lecture, in which proof of survivorship by less than 
a minute has secured succession to property. Now, 
the missing man was last seen alive at Mr. Hurst’s 
house at twenty minutes past five on the twenty-third 
of November. But he appears to have visited his 
brother’s house at Woodford, and, since nobody saw 
him at that house, it is at present uncertain whether he 
went there before calling on Mr. Hurst. If he went 
there first, then twenty minutes past five on the evening 
of the twenty-third is the latest moment at which he is 
known to have been alive; but if he went there after, 
there would have to be added to this time the shortest 
time possible in which he could travel from the one 
house to the other. 

“But the question as to which house he visited first 
hinges on the scarab. If he was wearing the scarab 
when he arrived at Mr. Hurst’s house, it would be cer- 
tain that he went there first; but if it was not then on 
his watch-chain, a probability would be established that 
he went first to Woodford. Thus, you see, a question 
which may conceivably become of the most vital mo- 
ment in determining the succession of property turns 
on the observation or non-observation by this house- 
maid of an apparently trivial and insignificant fact.” 

“Has the servant made any statement on this sub- 
ject, sir?” I ventured to inquire. 

“Apparently not,” replied Dr. Thorndyke; ‘‘at any 
rate, there is no reference to any such statement in the 


THE VANISHING MAN 7 


newspaper report, though otherwise, the case is re- 
ported in great detail; indeed, the wealth of detail, 
including plans of the two houses, is quite remark- 
able and well worth noting as being in itself a fact of 
considerable interest.” 

“In what respect, sir, is it of interest?” one of the 
students asked, 

“Ah,” replied Dr. Thorndyke, “I think I must leave 
you to consider that question yourself. This is an un- 
tried case, and we mustn’t make free with the actions 
and motives of individuals.” 

“Does the paper give any description of the missing 
man, sir?” I asked. 

“Yes; quite an exhaustive description. Indeed, it is 
exhaustive to the verge of impropriety, considering that 
the man may turn up alive and well at any moment. It 
seems that he has an old Pott’s fracture of the left 
ankle, a linear, longitudinal scar on each knee—origin 
not stated, but easily guessed at—and that he has 
tattooed on his chest in vermilion a very finely and 
distinctly executed representation of the symbelical 
Eye of Osiris—or Horus or Ra, as the different authori- 
ties have it. There certainly ought to be no difficulty 
in identifying the body. But we hope that it will not 
come to that. 

“And now I must really be running away, and so 
must you; but I would advise you all to get copies of 
the paper and file them when you have read the re- 
markably full details. It is a most curious case, and it 
is highly probable that we shall hear of it again. Good 
afternoon, gentlemen.” 

Dr. Thorndyke’s advice appealed to all who heard 
it, for medical jurisprudence was a live subject at St. 
Margaret’s, and all of us were keenly interested in it. 


8 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


As a result, we sallied forth in a body to the nearest 
news-vendor’s, and, having each provided himself with 
a copy of the Daily Telegraph, adjourned together to 
the Common room to devour the report and thereafter 
to discuss the bearings of the case, unhampered by 
those considerations of delicacy that afflicted our more 
squeamish and scrupulous teacher. 


CHAPTER II 


THE EAVESDROPPER 


It is one of the canons of correct conduct, scrupu- 
lously adhered to (when convenient) by all well-bred 
persons, that an acquaintance should be initiated by a 
proper introduction. To this salutary rule, which I 
have disregarded to the extent of an entire chapter, I 
now hasten to conform; and the more so inasmuch as 
nearly two years have passed since my first informal 
appearance. 

Permit me then, to introduce Paul Berkeley, M.B., 
etc., recently—very recently—qualified, faultlessly at- 
tired in the professional frock-coat and tall hat, and, at 
the moment of introduction, navigating with anxious 
care a perilous strait between a row of well-filled coal- 
sacks and a colossal tray piled high with kidney pota- 
toes. 

The passage of this strait landed me on the terra 
firma of Fleur-de-Lys Court, where I halted for a mo- 
ment to consult my visiting list. There was only one 
more patient for me to see this morning, and he lived 
at 49, Nevill’s Court, wherever that might be. I turned 
for information to the presiding deity of the coal shop. 

‘Can you direct me, Mrs. Jablett, to Nevill’s Court?” 

She could and she did, grasping me confidentially by 
the arm (the mark remained on my sleeve for weeks) 
and pointing a shaking forefinger at the dead wall 
ahead. ‘“Nevill’s Court,” said Mrs, Jablett, ‘‘is a alley, 

9 


IO THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


and you goes into it through a archway. It turns out 
on Fetter Lane on the right ’and as you goes up, op- 
persight Bream’s Buildings.” 

I thanked Mrs. Jabiett and went on my way, glad 
that the morning round was nearly finished, and 
vaguely conscious of a growing appetite and of a de- 
sire to wash in hot water. 

The practice which I was conducting was not my 
own. It belonged to poor Dick Barnard, an old St. 
Margaret’s man of irrepressible spirits and indifferent 
physique, who had started only the day before for a 
trip down the Mediterranean on board a tramp engaged 
in the currant trade; and this, my second morning’s 
round, was in some sort a voyage of geographical dis- 
covery. 

I walked on briskly up Fetter Lane until a narrow 
arched opening, bearing the superscription “Nevill’s 
Court,” arrested my steps, and here I turned to en- 
counter one of those surprises that lie in wait for the 
traveler in London by-ways. Expecting to find the 
gray squalor of the ordinary London court, I looked 
out from under the shadow of the arch past a row of 
decent little shops through a vista full of light and 
color—a vista of ancient, warm-toned roofs and walls 
relieved by sunlit foliage. In the heart of London a 
tree is always a delightful surprise; but here were not 
only trees, but bushes and even flowers, The narrow 
footway was bordered by little gardens, which, with 
their wooden palings and well-kept shrubs, gave to the 
place an air of quaint and sober rusticity; and even as 
I entered, a bevy of workgirls, with gaily-colored 
blouses and hair aflame in the sunlight, brightened up 
the quiet background like the wild flowers that spangle 
a summer hedgerow. 


THE EAVESDROPPER II 


In one of the gardens [ noticed that the little paths 
were paved with what looked like circular tiles, but 
which, on inspection, I found to be old-fashioned stone 
ink-bottles, buried bottom upwards; and I was medi- 
tating upon the quaint conceit of the forgotten scrivener 
who had thus adorned his habitation—a law-writer per- 
haps or an author, or perchance even a poet—when I 
perceived the number that I was seeking inscribed on 
a shabby door in a high wall. There was no bell or 
knocker, so, lifting the latch, I oe the door open 
and brtered. 

But if the court itself had been a surprise, this was 
a positive wonder, a dream. Here, within earshot of 
the rumble of Fleet Street, I was in an old-fashioned 
garden enclosed by high walls and, now that the gate 
was shut, cut off from all sight and knowledge of the 
urban world that seethed without. I stood and gazed 
in delighted astonishment. Sun-gilded trees and flower 
beds gay with blossom; lupins, snapdragons, nastur- 
tiums, spiry foxgloves, and mighty hollyhocks formed 
the foreground; over which a pair of sulphur-tinted 
butterflies flitted, unmindful of a buxom and miracu- 
lously clean white cat which pursued them, dancing 
across the borders and clapping her snowy paws fruit- 
lessly in mid-air. And the background was no less won- 
derful; a grand old house, dark-eaved and venerable, 
that must have looked down on this garden when ruf- 
fled dandies were borne in sedan chairs through the 
court, and gentle Izaak Walton, stealing forth from 
his shop in Fleet Street, strolled up Fetter Lane to 
“so a-angling” at Temple Mills. 

So overpowered was I by this unexpected vision that 
my hand was on the bottom knob of a row of bell-pulls 
before I recollected myself; and it was not until a most 


12 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


infernal jangling from within recalled me to my busi- 
ness that I observed underneath it a small brass plate 
inscribed ‘‘Miss Oman.” 

The door opened with some suddenness san a short, 
middle-aged woman surveyed me hungrily. 

“Have I rung the wrong bell?” I asked—foolishly 
enough, I must admit. 

“How can I tell?” she demanded. “TI expect you 
have. It’s the sort of thing a man would do—ring the 
wrong bell and then say he’s sorry.” 

“T didn’t go as far as that,” I retorted. “It seems to 
have had the desired effect, and I’ve made your ac- 
quaintance into the bargain.” 

“‘Whom do you want to see?” she asked. 

“Mr. Bellingham.” 

‘Are you the doctor?” 

“T’m a doctor.” 

“Follow me upstairs,” said Miss Oman. “and don’t 
tread on the paint.” 

I crossed the spacious hall, and preceded by my con- 
ductress, ascended a noble oak staircase, treading care- 


fully on a ribbon of matting that ran up the middle. 


On the first-floor landing Miss Oman opened a door 
and, pointing to the room, said, “Go in there and wait; 
[ll tell her you’re here.” 

“T said Mr. Bellingham—” I began; but the door 
slammed on me, and Miss Oman’s footsteps retreated 
rapidly down the stairs. 

It was at once obvious to me that I was in a very 
awkward position. The room into which I had been 
shown communicated with another, and though the 
door of communication was shut, T was unpleasant 
aware of a conversation that was taking place in t 
adjoining room. At first, indeed, only a vague mutter, 


THE EAVESDROPPER 13 


with a few disjointed phrases, came through the door, 
but suddenly an angry voice rang out clear and pain- 
fully distinct. 

“Yes, I did! And I say it again. Bribery! Collu- 
sion! ‘That’s what it amounts to. You want to square 
me!” 

“Nothing of the kind, Godfrey,” was the reply in a 
lower tone; but at this point I coughed emphatically 
and moved a chair, and the voices subsided once more 
into an indistinct murmur. 

To distract my attention from my. unseen neighbors 
I glanced curiously about the room and speculated upon 
the personalities of its occupants, A very curious room 
it was, with its pathetic suggestion of decayed splendor 
and old-world dignity; a room full of interest and char- 
acter and of contrasts and perplexing contradictions. 
For the most part it spoke of unmistakable though 
decent poverty. It was nearly bare of furniture, and 
what little there was was of the cheapest—a small 
kitchen table and three Windsor chairs (two of them 
with arms); a threadbare string carpet on the floor, 
and a cheap cotton cloth on the table; these, with 
a set of bookshelves, frankly constructed of grocer’s 
boxes, formed the entire suite. And yet, despite its 
-poverty, the place exhaled an air of homely if rather 
ascetic comfort, and the taste was irreproachable. The 
quiet russet of the table-cloth struck a pleasant har- 
mony with the subdued bluish green of the worn car- 
pet; the Windsor chairs and the legs of the table had 
been carefully denuded of their glaring varnish and 
stained a sober brown: and the austerity of the whole 
was relieved by a ginger jar filled with fresh-cut flowers 
and set in the middle of the table. 

But the contrasts of which I have spoken were most 


14 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


singular and puzzling. There were the bookshelves, 
for instance, home made and stained at the cost of a 
few pence, but filled with recent and costly new works 
on archeology and ancient art. ‘There were the ob- 
jects on the mantelpiece: a facsimile in bronze—not 
bronze plaster—of the beautiful head of Hypnos and 
a pair of fine Ushabti figures. There were the deco- 
rations of the walls, a number of etchings—signed 
proofs, every one of them—of Oriental subjects, and 
a splendid facsimile reproduction of an Egyptian 
papyrus. It was incongruous in the extreme, this 
mingling of costly refinements with the barest and shab- 
biest necessaries of life, of fastidious culture with mani- 
fest poverty. I could make nothing of it. What man- 
ner of man, I wondered, was this new patient of mine? 
Was he a miser, hiding himself and his wealth in this 
obscure court? An eccentric savant? A philosopher? 
Or—more probably—a crank? But at this point my 
meditations were interrupted by the voice from the 
adjoining room, once more raised in anger. 

“But I say that you ave making an accusation! You 
are implying that I made away with him.” 

“Not at all,” was the reply; “but I repeat that it is 
your business to ascertain what has become of him. 
The responsibility rests upon you.” 

“Upon me!” rejoined the first voice, “And what 
about you? Your position is a pretty fishy one if it 
comes to that.” 

“What!” roared the other. ““Do you insinuate that 
I murdered my own brother?” 

During this amazing colloquy I had stood gaping 
with sheer astonishment. Suddenly I recollected my- 
self, and dropping into a chair, set my elbows on my 
knees and clapped my hands over my ears; and thus 


THE EAVESDROPPER rs 


I must have remained for a full minute when I became 
aware of the closing of a door behind me. 

I sprang to my feet and turned in some embarrass- 
ment (for I must have looked unspeakably ridiculous) 
to confront the somber figure of a rather tall and strik- 
ingly handsome girl, who, as she stood with her hand 
on the knob of the door, saluted me with a formal bow. 
In an instantaneous glance I noted how perfectly she 
matched her strange surroundings. Black-robed, black- 
haired, with black-gray eyes and a grave sad face of 
ivory pallor, she stood, like one of old Terborch’s por- 
traits, a harmony in tones so low as to be but one 
step removed from monochrome. Obviously a lady 
in spite of the worn and rusty dress, and something in 
the poise of the head and the set of the straight brows 
hinted at a spirit that adversity had hardened rather 
than broken. 

“T must ask you to forgive me for keeping you wait- 
ing,” she said; and as she spoke a certain softening at 
the corners of the austere mouth reminded me of the 
absurd position in which she had found me. 

I murmured that the trifling delay was of no con- 
sequence whatever; that I had, in fact, been rather 
glad of the rest; and I was beginning somewhat vaguely 
to approach the subject of the invalid when the voice 
from the adjoining room again broke forth with hideous 
distinctness. 

“T tell you Ill do nothing of the kind! Why, con- 
found you, it’s nothing less than a conspiracy that your 
proposing!” 

Miss Bellingham—as I assumed her to be—stepped 
quickly across the floor, flushing angrily, as well she 
might; but, as she reached the door, it flew open and 
a small, spruce, middle-aged man burst into the room. 


16 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Your father is mad, Ruth!” he exclaimed; ‘abso- 
lutely stark mad! And I refuse to hold any further 
communication with him.” 

“The present interview was not of his seeking,” Miss 
Bellingham replied coldly. 

“No, it was not,” was the wrathful rejoinder; “at 
was my mistaken generosity. But there—what is the 
use of talking? I’ve done my best for you and [ll 
do no more. Don’t trouble to let me out; I can find 
my way. Good-morning.” With a stiff bow and a 
quick glance at me, the speaker strode out of the 
room, banging the door after him. 

“T must apologize for this extraordinary reception,” 
said Miss Bellingham; ‘‘but I believe medical men are 
not easily astonished. I will introduce you to your 
patient now.” She opened the door and, as I followed 
her into the adjoining room, she said: ‘Here is another 
visitor for you, dear. Doctor eo 

“Berkeley,” said I. “I am acting for my friend 
Doctor Barnard.” 

The invalid, a fine-looking man of about fifty-five, 
who sat propped up in bed with a pile of pillows, held 
out an excessively shaky hand, which I grasped cordi- 
ally, making a mental note of the tremor. ; 

“How do you do, sir?” said Mr. Bellingham. “I 
hope Doctor Barnard is not ill.” 

“Oh, no,” I answered; “he has gone for a trip down 
the Mediterranean on a currant ship. The chance oc- 
curred rather suddenly, and I bustled him off before 
he had time to change his mind. Hence my rather 
unceremonious appearance, which I hope you will for- 
give.” 

“Not at all,’ was the hearty response. “I’m de- 
lighted to hear that you sent him off; he wanted a 





THE EAVESDROPPER 17 


holiday, poor man. And I am delighted to make your 
acquaintance, too.” 

“It is very good of you,” I said; whereupon he 
bowed as gracefully as a man may who is propped up 
in bed with a heap of pillows; and having thus ex- 
changed broadsides of civility, so to speak, we—or, at 
least, I—proceeded to business. 

“How long have you been laid up?” I asked cau- 
tiously, not wishing to make too evident the fact that 
my principal had given me no information respecting 
his case. } 

“‘A week to-day,” he replied. “The fons e¢ origo mali 
was a hansom-cab which upset me opposite the Law 
Courts—sent me sprawling in the middle of the road. 
My own fault, of course—at least, the cabby said so, 
and I suppose he knew, But that was no consolation 
to me.” 

“Were you hurt much?” 

“No, not really; but the fall bruised my knee rather 
badly and gave me a deuce of a shake up. I’m too old 
for that sort of thing, you know.” 

“Most people are,” said I. 

“True; but you can take a cropper more gracefully 
at twenty than at fifty-five. However, the knee is get- 
ting on quite well—you shall see it presently—and you 
observe that I am giving it complete rest. But that 
isn’t the whole of the trouble or the worst of it. It’s 
my confounded nerves. I’m as irritable as the devil 
and as nervous as a cat. And I can’t get a decent 

night’s rest.” | 

I recalled the tremulous hand that he had offered me. 
He did not look like a drinker, but still 

“Do you smoke much?” I inquired diplomatically. 

_ He looked at me slyly and chuckled. ‘“That’s a very 





18 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


delicate way to approach the subject, Doctor,” he said. 
“No, I don’t smoke much, and I don’t crook my little 
finger. I saw you look at my shaky hand just now— 
oh, it’s all right; I’m not offended. It’s a doctor’s 
business to keep his eyelids lifting. But my hand is 
steady enough as a rule, when I’m not upset, but the 
least excitement sets me shaking like a jelly. And the 
fact is that I have just had a deucedly unpleasant 
interview % 

“TI think,” Miss Bellingham interrupted, ‘Doctor 
Berkeley and, indeed, the neighborhood at large, are 
aware of the fact.” 

Mr. Bellingham laughed rather shamefacedly. ‘I’m 
afraid I did lose my temper,” he said; “but I am 
an impulsive old fellow, Doctor, and when I’m put out 
I’m apt to speak my mind—a little too bluntly per- 
haps.” | 

“And audibly,” his daughter added. ‘Do you know 
that Doctor Berkeley was reduced to the necessity of 
stopping his ears?” She glanced at me as she spoke, 
with something like a twinkle in her solemn gray 
eyes. 

“Did I shout?” Mr. Bellingham asked, not very con- 
tritely, I thought, though he added: “I’m very sorry, 
my dear; but it won’t happen again. I think we’ve 
seen the last of that good gentleman.” 

“T am sure I hope so,” she rejoined, adding: ‘‘And 
now I will leave you to your talk; I shall be in the 
next room if you should want me.” 

I opened the door for her, and when she had passed 
out with a stiff little bow I seated myself by the bed- 
side and resumed the consultation. It was evidently a 
case of nervous breakdown, to which the cab accident 
had, no doubt, contributed. As to the other antecedents; 





THE EAVESDROPPER 19 


they were of no concern of mine, though Mr. Belling- 
ham seemed to think otherwise, for he resumed: “That 
cab business was the last straw, you know, and it fin- 
ished me off, but I have been going down the hill for a 
long time. I’ve had a lot of trouble during the last two 
years. But I suppose I oughtn’t to pester you with 
the details of my personal affairs.” 

“Anything that bears on your present state of health 
is of interest to me if you don’t mind telling it,” I 
said, 

“Mind!” he exclaimed. “Did you ever meet an in- 
valid who didn’t enjoy talking about his own health? 
It’s the listener who minds, as a rule.” 

“Well, the present listener doesn’t,” I said. 

“Then,” said Mr. Bellingham, “T’ll treat myself to 
the luxury of telling you all my troubles; I don’t often 
get the chance of a confidential grumble to a respon- 
sible man of my own class. And I really have some 
excuses for railing at Fortune, as you will agree when 
I tell you that, a couple of years ago, I went to bed 
one night a gentleman of independent means and ex- 
cellent prospects and woke up in the morning to find 
myself practically a beggar. Not a cheerful experience 
that, you know, at my time of life, eh?” 

“No,” I agreed, ‘“‘nor at any other.” 

“And that was not all,” he continued; “for at the 
same moment I lost my brother, my dearest, kindest 
friend. He disappeared—vanished off the face of the 
earth; but perhaps you have heard of the affair. The 
confounded papers were full of it at the time.” 

He paused abruptly, noticing, no doubt, a sudden 
change in my face. Of course I recollected the case 
now. Indeed, ever since I had entered the house some 


20 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


chord of memory had been faintly vibrating, and now 
his last words had struck out the full note. 

“Yes,” I said, “I remember the incident, though I 
don’t suppose I should but for the fact that our lec- 
turer on medical jurisprudence drew my attention to 
it.” 

“Indeed,” said Mr. Bellingham, rather uneasily, as 
I fancied. “What did he say about it?” 

“He referred to it as a case that was calculated to 
give rise to some very pretty legal complications.” 

“By Jove!” exclaimed Bellingham, “that man was 
a prophet! Legal complications, indeed! But I'll be 
bound he never guessed at the sort of infernal tangle 
that has actually gathered round the affair. By the 
way, what was his name?” 

“Thorndyke,” I replied. “Doctor John Thorndyke.” 

“‘Thorndyke,”’ Mr, Bellingham repeated in a musing, 
retrospective tone. ‘‘I seem to remember the name. 
Yes, of course. I have heard a legal friend of mine, 
a Mr. Marchmont, speak of him in reference to the 
case of a man whom I knew slightly years ago—a 
certain Jeffrey Blackmore, who also disappeared very 
mysteriously. I remember now that Dr. Thorndyke 
unraveled that case with most remarkable ingenuity.” 

“T daresay he would be very much interested to hear 
about your case,” I suggested. 

“T daresay he would,” was the reply; “but one can’t 
take up a professional man’s time for nothing, and I 
couldn’t afford to pay him. And that reminds me that 
I’m taking up your time by gossiping about purely 
personal affairs.” 

“My morning round is finished,” said I, “and, more- 
over, your personal affairs are highly interesting. I 


THE EAVESDROPPER 21 


suppose I mustn’t ask what is the nature of the legal 
entanglement?” 

“Not unless you are prepared to stay here for the 
rest of the day and go home a raving lunatic. But 
I'll tell you this much: the trouble is about my poor 
brother’s will. In the first place it can’t be admin- 
istered because there is not sufficient evidence that my 
brother is dead; and in the second place, if it could, 
all the property would go to people who were never 
intended to benefit. The will itself is the most diaboli- 
cally exasperating document that was ever produced 
by the perverted ingenuity of a wrongheaded man. 
That’s all. Will you have a-look at my knee?” 

As Mr. Bellingham’s explanation (delivered in a 
rapid crescendo and ending almost in a shout) had left 
him purple-faced and trembling, I thought it best to 
bring our talk to an end. Accordingly I proceeded to 
inspect the injured knee, which was now nearly well, 
and to overhaul my patient generally; and having given 
him detailed instructions as to his general conduct, I 
rose and took my leave, 

“And remember,” I said as I shook his hand, “No 
tobacco, no coffee, no excitement of any kind. Lead 
a quiet, bovine life.” 

“That’s all very well,” he grumbled, “but supposing 
people come here and excite me?”’ 

“Disregard them,” said I, ‘and read Whitaker’s Al- 
manack.” And with this parting advice I passed out 
into the other room. 

Miss Bellingham was seated at the table with a pile 
of blue-covered notebooks before her, two of which 
were open, displaying pages closely written in a small, 
neat handwriting. She rose as I entered and looked 
at me inquiringly. 


22 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T heard you advising my father to read Whitaker’s 
Almanack,’’ she said. “Was that a curative measure?” 

“Entirely,” I replied. “I recommended it for its 
medicinal virtues, as an antidote to mental excitement.” 

She smiled faintly. “It certainly is not a highly emo- 
tional book,” she said, and then asked: “‘Have you any 
other instructions to give?” 

“Well, I might give the conventional advice—to 
maintain a cheerful outlook and avoid worry; but I 
don’t suppose you would find it very helpful.” 

“No,” she answered bitterly; “it is a counsel of per- 
fection. People in our position are not a very cheerful 
class, I’m afraid; but still they don’t seek out worries 
from sheer perverseness. The worries come unsought. 
But, of course, you can’t enter into that.” 

“T can’t give any practical help, I fear, though I do 
sincerely hope that you father’s affairs will straighten 
themselves out soon.” 

She thanked me for my good wishes and accom- 
panied me down to the street door, where, with a bow 
and a rather stiff handshake, she gave me my congé. 

Very ungratefully the noise of Fetter Lane smote on 
my ears as I came out through the archway, and very 
squalid and unrestful the little street looked when 
contrasted with the dignity and monastic quiet of the 
old garden. As to the surgery, with its oilcloth floor 
and walls made hideous with gaudy insurance show- 
cards in sham gilt frames, its aspect was so revolting 
that I flew to the day-book for distraction, and was 
still busily entering the morning’s visits when the bottle- 
boy, Adolphus, entered stealthily to announce lunch. 


CHAPTER III 


JOHN THORNDYKE 


Tuat the character of an individual tends to be 
reflected in his dress is a fact familiar to the least 
observant, That the observation is equally applicable 
to aggregates of men is less familiar, but equally true. 
Do not the members of fighting professions, even to 
this day, deck themselves in feathers, in gaudy colors 
and gilded ornaments, after the manner of the African 
war-chief or the Redskin “brave,” and thereby indicate 
the place of war in modern civilization? Does not the 
Church of Rome send her priests to the altar in habili- 
ments that were fashionable before the fall of the 
Roman Empire, in token of her immovable conserva- 
tism? And, lastly, does not the Law, lumbering on in 
the wake of progress, symbolize its subjection to pre- 
cedent by head-gear reminiscent of the good days of 
Queen Anne? 

I should’ apologize for intruding upon the reader 
these somewhat trite reflections; which were set going 
by the quaint stock-in-trade of the wig-maker’s shop in 
the cloisters of the Inner Temple, whither I strayed 
on a sultry afternoon in quest of shade and quiet. I 
had halted opposite the little shop window, and, with 
my eyes bent dreamily on the row of wigs, was pur- 
suing the above train of thought when I was startled 
by a deep voice saying softly in my ear: “I’d have the 
full-bottomed one if I were you.” 

23 


24 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


I turned swiftly and rather fiercely, and looked into 
the face of my old friend and fellow student, Jervis; 
behind whom, regarding us with a sedate smile, stood 
my former teacher, Dr. John Thorndyke. Both men 
greeted me with a warmth that I felt to be very flat- 
tering, for Thorndyke was quite a great personage, and 
even Jervis was several years my academic senior. 

“You are coming in to have a cup of tea with us, I 
hope,” said Thorndyke; and as I assented gladly, he 
took my arm and led me across the court in the direc- 
tion of the Treasury. 

“But why that hungry gaze at those forensic vanities, 
Berkeley?” he asked. “Are you thinking of following 
my example and Jervis’s—deserting the bedside for the 
Bar?” 

“What! Has Jervis gone in for the law?” I ex- 
claimed. 

“Bless you, yes!” replied Jervis. ‘“I have become 
parasitical on Thorndyke! ‘The big fleas have little 
fleas,’ you know. I am the additional fraction trailing 
after the whole number in the rear of a decimal point.” 

“Don’t you believe him, Berkeley,” interposed 
Thorndyke, ‘He is the brains of the firm. I supply 
the respectability and moral worth. But you haven’t 
answered my question. What are you doing here on a 
summer afternoon staring into a wig-maker’s window?” 

“T am Barnard’s locum; he is in practise in Fetter 
Lane.” | 

“YT know,” said Thorndyke; “we meet him occasion- 
ally, and very pale and peaky he has been looking of 
late. Is he taking a holiday?” 

“Yes. He has gone for a trip to the Isles of Greece 
in a currant ship.” 





JOHN THORNDYKE 25 


“Then,” said Jervis, ‘“‘you are actually a local G.P. 
I thought you were looking beastly respectable.” 

“And judging from your leisured manner when we 
encountered you,” added Thorndyke, “the practise is 
not a strenuous one. I suppose it is entirely local?” 

“Yes,” I replied. ‘The patients mostly live in the 
small streets and courts within a half-mile radius of the 
surgery, and the abodes of some of them are pretty 
squalid. Oh! and that reminds me of a very strange 
coincidence, It will interest you, I think.” 

“Life is made up of strange coincidences,” said 
Thorndyke. ‘Nobody but a reviewer of novels is ever 
really surprised at a coincidence. But what is yours?” 

“It is connected with a case that you mentioned to 
us at the hospital about two years ago, the case of a 
man who disappeared under rather mysterious circum- 
stances. Do you remember it? The man’s name was 
Bellingham.” 

“The Egyptologist? Yes, I remember the case quite 
well. What about it?” 

“The brother is a patient of mine. He is living in 
Nevill’s Court with his daughter, and they seem to be 
as poor as church mice.” 

“Really,” said Thorndyke, “this is quite interesting. 
They must have come down in the world rather sud- 
denly. If I remember rightly, the brother was living 
in a house of some pretentions standing in its own 
grounds.” 

“Ves, that is so. I see you recollect all about the 
case.” 

“My dear fellow,” said Jervis, ““Thorndyke never 
forgets a likely case. He is a sort of medico-legal 
camel. He gulps down the raw facts from the news- 
papers or elsewhere, and then, in his leisure moments, 


26 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


he calmly regurgitates them and has a quiet chew at 
them. It is a quaint habit. A case crops up in the 
papers or in one of the courts, and Thorndyke swallows 
it whole. Then it lapses and every one forgets it. A 
year or two later it crops up in a new form, and, to 
your astonishment, you find that Thorndyke has got 
it all cut and dried. He has been ruminating on it peri- 
odically in the interval. 

“You notice,” said Thorndyke, “that my learned 
friend is pleased to indulge in mixed metaphors. But 
his statement is substantially true, though obscurely 
worded. You must tell us more about the Belling- 
hams when we have fortified you with a cup of tea.” 

Our talk had brought us to Thorndyke’s chambers, 
which were on the first floor of No. 5a, King’s Bench 
Walk, and as we entered the fine, spacious, paneled 
room we found a small, elderly man, neatly dressed in 
black, setting out the tea-service on the table. I 
glanced at him with some curiosity. He hardly looked 
like a servant, in spite of his neat, black clothes; in 
fact, his appearance was rather puzzling, for while his 
quiet dignity and his serious intelligent face suggested 
some kind of professional man, his neat, capable hands 
were those of a skilled mechanic. 

Thorndyke surveyed the tea-tray thoughtfully and 
then looked at his retainer. “I see you have put three 
teacups, Polton,” he said. ‘Now, how did you know 
I was bringing some one in to tea?” 

The little man smiled a quaint, crinkly smile of 
gratification as he explained: 

“T happened to look out of the laboratory window 
as you turned the corner, sir.” 

“How disappointingly simple,” said Jervis. “We 
were hoping for something abstruse and telepathic.” 


JOHN THORNDYKE 27 


“Simplicity is the soul of efficiency, sir,” replied 
Polton as he checked the tea-service to make sure that 
nothing was forgotten, and with this remarkable aphor- 
ism he silently evaporated. 

“To return to the Bellingham case,” said Thorn- 
dyke, when he had poured out the tea. ‘Have you 
picked up any facts relating to the parties—and facts, 
I mean, of course, that it would be proper for you to 
mention?” 

“T have learned one or two things that there is no 
harm in repeating. For instance, I gather that Godfrey 
Bellingham—my patient—lost all his property quite 
suddenly about the time of the disappearance.” 

“That is really odd,” said Thorndyke. “The oppo- 
site condition would be quite understandable, but one 
doesn’t see exactly how this can have happened, unless 
there was an allowance of some sort.” 

“No, that was what struck me. But there seem 
to be some queer features in the case, and the legal 
position is evidently getting complicated. There is a 
will, for example, which is giving trouble.” 

“They will hardly be able to administer the will 
without either proof or presumption of death,” Thorn- 
dyke remarked. 

“Exactly. That’s one of the difficulties. Another 
is that there seems to be some fatal defect in the draft- 
ing of the will itself. I don’t know what it is, but I ex- 
pect I shall hear sooner or later. By the way, I men- 
tioned the interest that you have taken in the case, and 
I think Bellingham would have like to consult you, but, 
of course, the poor devil has no money.” 

“That is awkward for him if the other interested 
parties have. There will probably be legal proceedings 
of some kind, and as the law takes no account of 


28 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


poverty, he is likely to go to the wall. He ought to 
have advice of some sort.” 

“I don’t see how he is to get it,” said I. 

“Neither do I,” Thorndyke admitted. ‘There are no 
hospitals for impecunious litigants; it is assumed that 
only persons of means have a right to go to law. Of 
course, if we knew the man and the circumstances we 
might be able to help him; but for all we know to the 
contrary, he may be an arrant scoundrel.” 

I had recalled the strange conversation that I had 
overheard, and wondered what Thorndyke would have 
thought of it if it had been allowable for me to repeat 
it. Obviously it was not, however, and I could only 
give my own impressions. 

“He doesn’t strike me as that,” I said; “but of 
course, one never knows. Personally, he impressed me 
rather favorably, which is more than the other man 
did.” 

“What other man?” asked Thorndyke. 

“There was another man in the case, wasn’t there? 
I forget his name. I saw him at the house and didn’t 
much like the look of him. I eae. he’s putin some 
sort of pressure on Bellingham.” 

“Berkeley knows more about this than he’s telling 
us,” said Jervis. “Let us look up the report and see 
who this stranger is.” He took down from a shelf a 
large volume of newspaper cuttings and laid it on the 
table. | 

“You see,” said he, as he ran his finger down the 
index. ‘Thorndyke files all the cases that are likely 
to come to something, and I know he had expectations 
regarding this one. I fancy he had some ghoulish hope 
that the missing gentleman’s head might turn up in 
somebody’s dust-bin. Here we are; the other man’s 


JOHN THORNDYKE 29 


name is Hurst. He is apparently a cousin, and it was 
at his house the missing man was last seen alive.” 

“So you think Mr. Hurst is moving in the matter?” 
said Thorndyke, when he had glanced over the report. 

“That is my impression,” I replied, ‘though I really 
know nothing about it.” 

“Well,” said Thorndyke, “if you should learn what 
is being done and should have permission to speak of 
it, I shall be very interested to hear how the case 
progresses and if an unofficial opinion on any point 
would be of service, I think there would be no harm 
in giving it.” 

“It would certainly be of great value if the other 
parties are taking professional advice,” I said; and 
then, after a pause, I asked: ‘Have you given this case 
much consideration?” | 

Thorndyke reflected. “No,” he said, “I can’t say 
that I have. I turned it over rather carefully when the 
report first appeared, and I have speculated on it oc- 
casionally since. It is my habit, as Jervis was telling 
you, to utilize odd moments of leisure (such as a rail- 
way journey, for instance) by constructing theories 
to account for the facts of such obscure cases as have 
come to my notice. It is a useful habit, I think, for, 
apart from the mental exercise and experience that one 
gains from it, an appreciable portion of these cases 
ultimately comes into my hands, and then the pre- 
vious consideration of them is so much time gained.” 

“Have you formed any theory to account for the 
facts in this case?” I asked. 

“Ves, I have several theories, one of which I es- 
pecially favor, and I am awaiting with great interest 
- such new facts as may indicate to me which of these 
theories is probably the correct one.” 


30 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Tt’s no use your trying to pump him, Berkeley,” 
said Jervis. “He is fitted with an information valve 
that opens inward. You can pour in as much as you 
like, but you can’t get any out.” 

Thorndyke chuckled. “My learned friend is, in the 
main, correct,” he said. “You see, I may be called 
upon any day to advise on this case, in which event I 
should feel remarkably foolish if I had already ex- 
pounded my views in detail. But I should like to hear 
what you and Jervis make of the case as reported in 
the newspapers.” 

“There now,” exclaimed Jervis, “what did I tell you? 
He wants to suck our brains.” 

“As far as my brain is concerned,” I said, ‘“‘the 
process of suction isn’t likely to yield much except 
a vacuum, so I will resign in favor of you. You are a 
full-blown lawyer, whereas I am only a simple G.P.” 

Jervis filled his pipe with deliberate care and lighted 
it. Then, blowing a slender stream of smoke into the 
air, he said: 

“Tf you want to know what I make of the case from 
that report, I can tell you in one word—nothing. 
Every road seems to end in a cul-de-sac.” 

“Oh, come!” said Thorndyke, “this is mere laziness. 
Berkeley wants to witness a display of your forensic 
wisdom, A learned counsel may be in a fog—he very 
often is—but he doesn’t state the fact baldly; he wraps 
it up in a decent verbal disguise. Tell us how you 
arrive at your conclusion. Show us that you have really 
weighed the facts.” 

“Very well,” said Jervis, “I will give you a masterly 
analysis of the case—leading to nothing.” He con- 
tinued to puff at his pipe for a time with slight em- 
barrassment, as I thought—and I fully sympathized 


JOHN THORNDYKE . 31 


Ny 
Pere, 


with him. Finally he blew a little cloud and wens all 


menced: 

“The position appears to be this: Here is a man seen 
to enter a certain house, who is shown into a certain 
room, and shut in. He is not seen to come out, and 
yet, when the room is next entered, it is found to be 
empty; and that man is never seen again, alive or dead. 
That is a pretty tough beginning. 

“Now, it is evident that one of three things must 
have happened. Either he must have remained in that 
room, or at least in that house, alive; or he must have 
died, naturally or otherwise, and his body have been 
concealed; or he must have left the house unobserved. 
Let us take the first case. This affair happened nearly 
two years ago. Now, he couldn’t have remained alive 
in the house for two years. He would have been 
noticed. The servants, for instance, when cleaning out 
the rooms, would have observed him.” 

Here Thorndyke interposed with an indulgent smile 
at his junior: “My learned friend is treating the in- 
quiry with unbecoming levity. We accept the con- 
clusion that the man did not remain in the house alive.” 

“Very well. Then did he remain in it dead? Ap- 
parently not. The report says that as soon as the man 
was missed, Hurst and the servants together searched 
the house thoroughly. But there had been no time or 
opportunity to dispose of the body, whence the only 
possible conclusion is that the body was not there. 
Moreover, if we admit the possibility of his having been 
murdered—for that is what concealment of the body 
would imply—there is the question: ‘Who could have 
murdered him?’ Not the servants, obviously, and as 
to Hurst—well, of course, we don’t know what his 


32 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


relations with the missing man may have been—at least, 
I don’t.” 

“Neither do I,” said Thorndyke. ‘I know nothing 
beyond what is in the newspaper report and what 
Berkeley has told us.” 

“Then we know nothing. He may have had a mo- 
tive for murdering the man or he may not. The point 
is that he doesn’t seem to have had the opportunity. 
Even if we suppose that he managed to conceal the 
body temporarily, still there was the final disposal of 
it. He couldn’t have buried it in the garden with the 
servants about; neither could he have burned it. The 
only conceivable method by which he could have got 
rid of it would have been that of cutting it up into 
fragments and burying the dismembered parts in some 
secluded spots or dropping them into ponds or rivers. 
But no remains of the kind have been found, as some 
of them probably would have been by now, so that 
there is nothing to support this suggestion; indeed, the 
idea of murder, in this house at least, seems to be ex- 
cluded by the search that was made the instant the man 
was missed. 

“Then to take the third alternative: Did he leave 
the house unobserved? Well, it is not impossible, but 
it would be a queer thing to do. He may have been 
an impulsive or eccentric man. We can’t say. We 
know nothing about him. But two years have elapsed 
and he has never turned up, so that if he left the 
house secretly he must have gone into hiding and be 
hiding still. Of course, he may have been the sort of 
lunatic who would behave in that manner or he may 
not. We have no information as to his personal char- 
acter. 

“Then there is the complication of the scarab that 


JOHN THORNDYKE 33 


was picked up in the grounds of his brother’s house at 
Woodford. That seems to show that he visited that 
house at some time. But no one admits having seen 
him there; and it is uncertain, therefore, whether he 
went first to his brother’s house or to Hurst’s. If he 
was wearing the scarab when he arrived at the Eltham 
house, he must have left that house unobserved and 
gone to Woodford; but if he was not wearing it he 
probably went from Woodford to Eltham, and there 
finally disappeared. As to whether he was or was not 
wearing the scarab when he was last seen alive by 
Hurst’s housemaid, there is at present no evidence. 
“If he went to his brother’s house after his visit to 
Hurst, the disappearance is more understandable if 
we don’t mind flinging accusations of murder about 
rather casually; for the disposal of the body would be 
much less difficult in that case. Apparently no one saw 
him enter the house, and, if he did enter, it was by a 
back gate which communicated with the library—a 
separate building some distance from the house. In 
that case it would have been physically possible for the 
Bellinghams to have made away with him. There was 
plenty of time to dispose of the body unobserved—tem- 
porarily, at any rate. Nobody had seen him come to 
the house, and nobody knew that he was there—if he 
was there; and apparently no search was made either 
at the time or afterward. In fact, if it could be shown 
that the missing man left Hurst’s house alive, or that 
he was wearing the scarab when he arrived there, 
things would look rather fishy for the Bellinghams— 
for, of course, the girl must have been in it if the father 
was. But there’s the crux: there is no proof that the 
man ever did leave Hurst’s house alive. And if he 


Rai THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


didn’t—but there! as I said at first, whichever turning 
you take, you find that it ends in a blind alley.” 

“A lame ending to a masterly exposition,’ was 
Thorndyke’s comment. 

“T know,” said Jervis. “But what would you have? 
There are quite a number of possible solutions, and 
one of them must be the true one. But how are we to 
judge which it is? I maintain that until we know 
something of the parties and the financial and other 
interests involved we have no data.” 

“There,” said Thorndyke, ‘I disagree with you en- 
tirely. I maintain that we have ample data, You 
say that we have no means of judging which of the 
various possible solutions is the true one; but I think 
that if you read the report carefully and thoughtfully 
you will find that the facts now known point to 
one explanation, and one only. It may not be the true 
explanation, and I don’t suppose it is. But we are now 
dealing with the matter speculatively, academically, 
and I contend that our data yield a definite conclusion. 
What do you say, Berkeley?” 

“T say that it is time for me to be off; the evening 
consultations begin at half-past six.” 

“Well,” said Thorndyke, ‘“‘don’t let us keep you from 
your duties, with poor Barnard currant picking in the 
Grecian Isles. But come in and see us again. Drop 
in when you like after your work is done. You won’t be 
in our way even if we are busy, which we very seldom 
are after eight o’clock.” 

I thanked Dr. Thorndyke sees heartily for making 
me free of his chambers in this hospitable fashion and 
took my leave, setting forth homeward by way of 
Middle Temple Lane and the Embankment; not a very 
direct route for Fetter Lane, it must be confessed; but 


JOHN THORNDYKE 35 


our talk had revived my interest in the Bellingham 
household and put me in a reflective vein. 

From the remarkable conversation that I had over- 
heard it was evident that the plot was thickening. Not 
that I supposed that these two respectable gentlemen 
really suspected one another of having made away with 
the missing man; but still, their unguarded words, 
spoken in anger, made it clear that each had allowed 
the thought of sinister possibilities to enter his mind— 
a dangerous condition that might easily grow into ac- 
tual suspicion. And then the circumstances really were 
highly mysterious, as I realized with especial vividness 
now after listening to my friend’s analysis of the evi- 
dence. 

From the problem itself my mind traveled, not for 
the first time during the last few days, to the hand- 
some girl, who had seemed in my eyes the high-priestess 
of this temple of mystery in the quaint little court. 
What a strange figure she had made against this 
strange background, with her quiet, chilly, self-con- 
tained manner, her pale face, so sad and worn, her 
black, straight brows and solemn gray eyes, so in- 
scrutable, mysterious, Sibylline. A striking, even im- 
pressive, personality this, I reflected, with something 
in it somber and enigmatic that attracted and yet re- 
pelled. | 

And here I recalled Jervis’s words: ‘The girl must 
have been in it if the father was.” It was a dreadful 
thought, even though only speculatively uttered, and 
my heart rejected it; rejected it with indignation that 
rather surprised me. And this notwithstanding that 
the somber black-robed figure that my memory con- 
_ jured up was one that associated itself with the idea 
of mystery and tragedy. 


CHAPTER IV 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 


My meditations brought me by a circuitous route, 
and ten minutes late, to the end of Fetter Lane, where, 
exchanging my rather abstracted air for the alert man- 
ner of a busy practitioner, I strode briskly forward and 
darted into the surgery with knitted brows, as though 
just released from an anxious case. But there was 
only one patient waiting, and she saluted me as I en- 
tered with a snort of defiance. 

“Here you are, then?” said she. 

“You are perfectly correct, Miss Oman,” I replied; 
“in fact, you have put the case in a nutshell. What 
can I have the pleasure of doing for you?” 

“Nothing,” was the answer. “My medical adviser 
is a lady; but I’ve brought a note from Mr. Belling- 
ham. Here it is,” and she thrust the envelope into 
my hand. 

I glanced through the note and learned that my pa- 
tient had had a couple of bad nights and a very 
harassing day. ‘Could I have something to give me a 
night’s rest?” it concluded. 

I reflected for a few moments. One is not very ready 
to prescribe sleeping draughts for unknown patients, 
but still, insomnia is a very distressing condition. In 
the end I temporized with a moderate dose of bromide, 
deciding to call and see if more energetic measures 
were necessary. 

36 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 37 


“He had better take a dose of this at once, Miss 
Oman,” said I, as I handed her the bottle, “and I will 
look in later and see how he is.” 

“T expect he will be glad to see you,” she answered, 
“for he is all alone to-night and very dumpy. Miss 
Bellingham is out. But I must remind you that he’s 
a poor man and pays his way. You must excuse my 
mentioning it.” 3 

“Tam much obliged to you for the hint, Miss Oman,” 
I rejoined. “It isn’t necessary for me to see him, but 
I should like just to look in and have a chat.” 

“Yes, it will do him, good. You have your points, 
though punctuality doesn’t seem to be one of them,” 
and with this parting shot Miss Oman bustled away. 

Half-past eight found me ascending the great, dim 
staircase of the house in Nevill’s Court preceded by 
Miss Oman, by whom I was ushered into the room. 
Mr. Bellingham, who had just finished some sort of 
meal, was sitting hunched up in his chair gazing gloom- 
ily into the empty grate. He brightened up as I en- 
tered, but was evidently in very low spirits. 

“TI didn’t mean to drag you out after your day’s 
work was finished,” he said, “though I am very glad 
to see you.” 

“You haven’t dragged me out. I heard you were 
alone, so I just dropped in for a few minutes’ gossip.” 

“That is really kind of you,” he said heartily. ‘But 
I’m afraid you'll find me rather poor company. A man 
who is full of his own highly disagreeable affairs is not 
a desirable companion.” 

“You mustn’t let me disturb you if you’d rather be 
alone,” said I, with a sudden fear that I was intruding. 
“Oh, you won’t disturb me,” he replied; adding, 

with a laugh: “It’s more likely to be the other way 


38 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


about. In fact, if I were not afraid of boring you to 
death I would ask you to let me talk my difficulties 
over with you.” 

“You won’t bore me,” I said. “It is generally inter- 
esting to share another man’s experiences without their 
inconveniences. ‘The proper study of mankind is— 
man,’ you know, especially to a doctor.” 

Mr. Bellingham chuckled grimly. ‘You make me 
feel like a microbe,” he said. ‘However, if you would 
care to take a peep at me through your microscope, I 
will crawl on to the stage for your inspection, though 
it is not my actions that furnish the materials for your 
psychological studies. It is my poor brother who is 
the Deus ex machina, who, from his unknown grave, 
as I fear, pulls the strings of this infernal puppet- 
show.” 

He paused and for a space gazed thoughtfully into 
the grate as if he had forgotten my presence. At 
length he looked up and resumed: 

“Tt is a curious story, Doctor—a very curious story. 
Part of it you know—the middle part. I will tell you 
it from the beginning, and then you will know as much 
as I do; for, as to the end, that is known to no one. 
It is written, no doubt, in the book of destiny, but 
the page has yet to be turned. 

“The mischief began with my father’s death. He 
was a country clergyman of very moderate means, a 
widower with two children, my brother John and me. 
He managed to send us both to Oxford, after which 
John went into the Foreign Office and I was to have 
gone into the Church. But I suddenly discovered that 
my views on religion had undergone a change that 
made this impossible, and just about this time my 
father came into a quite considerable property. Now, 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 39 


as it was his expressed intention to leave the estate 
equally divided between my brother and me, there was 
no need for me to take up any profession for a liveli- 
hood. Archeology was already the passion of my 
life, and I determined to devote myself henceforth to 
my favorite study, in which, by the way, I was fol- 
lowing a family tendency; for my father was an en- 
thusiastic student of ancient Oriental history, and 
John was, as you know, an ardent Egyptologist. 

“Then my father died quite suddenly, and left no 
will. He had intended to have one drawn up, but had 
put it off until it was too late. And since nearly all 
the property was in the form of real estate, my brother 
inherited practically the whole of it. However, in 
deference to the known wishes of my father, he made 
me an allowance of five hundred a year, which was 
about a quarter of the annual income. I urged him 
to assign me a lump sum, but he refused to do this. 
Instead, he instructed his solicitor to pay me an allow- 
ance in quarterly instalments during the rest of his 
life; and it was understood that, on his death, the en- 
tire estate should devolve on me, or if I died first, 
on my daughter, Ruth. Then, as you know, he disap- 
peared suddenly, and as the circumstances suggested 
that he was dead, and there was no evidence that he 
was alive, his solicitor—a Mr. Jellicoe—found himself 
unable to continue the payment of the allowance. On 
the other hand, as there was no positive evidence that 
my brother was dead, it was impossible to administer 
the will.” 

“You say the circumstances suggested that your 
brother was dead. What circumstances were they?” 

“Principally the suddenness and completeness of the 
disappearance. His luggage, as you may remember, 


40 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


was found lying unclaimed at the railway station; and 
there was another circumstance even more suggestive. 
My brother drew a pension from the Foreign Office, 
for which he had to apply in person, or, if abroad, pro- 
duce proof that he was alive on the date when the 
payment became due. Now, he was exceedingly regu- 
lar in this respect; in fact, he had never been known 
to fail, either to appear in person or to transmit the 
necessary documents to his agent, Mr. Jellicoe. But 
from the moment when he vanished so mysteriously to 
the present day, nothing whatever has been heard of 
him.” 

“It’s a very awkward position for you,” I said, ‘‘but 
I should think there will not be much difficulty in ob- 
taining the permission of the Court to presume death 
and to proceed to prove the will.” 

Mr. Bellingham made a wry face. “I expect you are 
right,” he said, “but that doesn’t help me much. You 
see, Mr. Jellicoe, having waited a reasonable time for 
my brother to reappear, took a very unusual but, I 
think, in the special circumstances, a very proper step; 
he summoned me and the other interested party to his 
office and communicated to us the provisions of the 
will. And very extraordinary provisions they turned 
out to be. I was thunderstruck when I heard them. 
And the exasperating thing is that I feel sure my poor 
brother imagined that he had made everything per- 
fectly safe and simple.” 

“They generally do,” I said, rather vaguely. 

“T suppose they do,” said Mr. Bellingham; “but poor 
John has made the most infernal hash of his will, and 
I am certain that he has utterly defeated his own 
intentions. You see, we are an old London family. 
The house in Queen Square where my brother nom- 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 41 


inally lived, but actually kept his collection, has been ~ 
occupied by us for generations, and most of the Bel- 
linghams are buried in St. George’s burial-ground close 
by, though some members of the family are buried in 
other churchyards in the neighborhood. Now, my 
brother—who, by the way, was a bachelor—had a 
strong feeling for the family traditions, and he stipu- 
lated, not unnaturally, in his will that he should be 
buried in St. George’s burial-ground among his an- 
cestors, or, at least, in one of the places of burial 
appertaining to his native parish. But instead of 
simply expressing the wish and directing his executors 
to carry it out, he made it a condition affecting the 
operation of the will.” 

“Affecting it in what respect?” I asked. 

“In a very vital respect,” answered Mr. Bellingham. 
“The bulk of the property he bequeathed to me, or if I 
predeceased him, to my daughter Ruth. But the be- 
quest was subject to the condition I have mentioned— 
that he should be buried in a certain place—and if that 
condition was not fulfilled, the bulk of the property 
was to go to my cousin, George Hurst.” 

“But in that case,” said I, “‘as you can’t produce the 
body, neither of you can get the property.” 

“T am not so sure of that,” he replied. “If my 
brother is dead, it is pretty certain that he is not buried 
in St. George’s or any of the other places mentioned, 
and the fact can easily be proved by production of the 
registers. So that a permission to presume death would 
result in the handing over to Hurst of almost the entire 
estate.” 

“Who is the executor?” I asked. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “there is another muddle. 
There are two executors; Jellicoe is one, and the other 


42 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


is the principal beneficiary—-Hurst or myself, as the 
case may be. But, you see, neither of us can become 
an executor until the Court has decided which of us 
is the principal beneficiary.” 

“But who is to apply to the Court? I thought that 
was the business of the executors.” 

“Exactly, that is Hurst’s difficulty. We were dis- 
cussing it when you called the other day, and a very 
animated discussion it was,” he added, with a grim 
smile. ‘You see, Jellicoe naturally refuses to move in 
the matter alone. He says he must have the support of 
the other executor. But Hurst is not at present the 
other executor; neither am I. But the two of us 
together are the co-executor, since the duty devolves 
upon one or other of us, in any case.” 

“Tt’s a complicated position,” I said. 

“Tt is; and the complication has elicited a very curi- 
ous proposal from Hurst. He points out—dquite cor- 
rectly, I am afraid—that as the conditions as to burial 
have not been complied with, the property must come 
to him, and he proposes a very neat little arrangement, 
which is this: That I shall support him and Jellicoe 
in their application for permission to presume death 
and to administer the will, and that he shall pay me 
four hundred a year for life; the arrangement to hold 
good in all eventualities.” 

“What does he mean by that?” 

“Ale means,” said Bellingham, fixing me with a fero- 
cious scowl, “that if the body should turn up at any 
future time, so that the conditions as to burial should 
be able to be carried out, he should still retain the 
property and pay me the four hundred a year.” 

“The deuce!” said I. ‘He seems to know how to 
drive a bargain.” 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 43 


“Fis position is that he stands to lose four hundred 
a year for the term of my life if the body is never 
found, and he ought to stand to win if it is.” 

“And I gather that you have refused this offer?” 

“Yes; very emphatically, and my daughter agrees 
with me; but I am not sure that I have done the right 
thing. A man should think twice, I suppose, before 
he burns his boats.” 

“Have you spoken to Mr. Jellicoe about the matter?” 

“Yes, I have been to see him to-day. He is a cau- 
tious man, and he doesn’t advise me one way or the 
other. But I think he disapproves of my refusal; in 
fact, he remarked that a bird in the hand is worth two 
in the bush, especially when the whereabouts of the 
bush is unknown.” 

“Do you think he will apply to the Court without 
your sanction?” 

“He doesn’t want to; but I suppose, if Hurst puts 
pressure on him, he will have to. Besides, Hurst, as 
an interested party, could apply on his own account, 
and after my refusal he probably will; at least, that is 
Jellicoe’s opinion.” 

“The whole thing is a most astonishing muddle,” I 
said, “especially when one remembers that your brother 
had a lawyer to advise him. Didn’t Mr. Jellicoe point 
out to him how absurd the provisions were?”’ 

“Ves, he did. He tells me that he implored my 
brother to let him draw up a will embodying the matter 
in a reasonable form. But John wouldn’t listen to 
him. Poor old fellow! he could be very pig-headed 
when he chose.” 

“And is Hurst’s proposal still open?” 

“No, thanks to my peppery temper. I refused it 
very definitely, and sent him off with a flea in his ear. 


44 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


I hope I have not made a false step; I was quite taken 
by surprise when Hurst made the proposal and got 
rather angry. You remember, my brother was last 
seen alive at Hurst’s house—but there, I oughtn’t to 
talk like that, and I oughtn’t to pester you with my 
confounded affairs when you come in for a friendly 
chat, though I gave you fair warning, you remember.” 

“Oh, but you have been highly entertaining. You 
don’t realize what an interest I take in your case.” 

Mr. Bellingham laughed somewhat grimly. “My 
case!”’ he repeated. ‘You speak as if I were some 
rare and curious sort of criminal lunatic. However, 
I’m glad you find me amusing. It’s more than I find 
myself.” 

“TI didn’t say amusing; I said interesting. I view 
you with deep respect as the central figure of a stirring 
drama. And I am not the only person who regards — 
you in that light. Do you remember my speaking to 
you of Doctor Thorndyke?” 

“Yes, of course I do.” 

“Well, oddly enough, I met him this afternoon and 
we had a long talk at his chambers. I took the liberty 
of mentioning that I had made your acquaintance. Did 
I do wrong?” 

“No. Certainly not. Why shouldn’t you tell him? 
Did he remember my infernal case, as you call it?” 

“Perfectly, in all its details. He is quite an enthu- 
siast, you know, and uncommonly keen to hear how 
the case develops.” 

“So am I, for that matter,” said Mr. Bellingham. 

“TI wonder,” said I, “if you would mind my telling 
him what you have told me to-night? It would in- 
terest him enormously.” 

Mr. Bellingham reflected for a while with his eyes 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 45 


fixed on the empty grate. Presently he looked up, and 
said slowly: 

“YT don’t know why I should. It’s no secret; and if 
it were, I hold no monopoly in it. No; tell him, if you 
think he’d care to hear about it.” 

“You needn’t be afraid of his talking,” I said. ‘‘He’s 
as close as an oyster; and the facts may mean more 
to him than they do to us. He may be able to give 
a useful hint or two.” 

“Oh, I’m not going to pick his brains,” Mr. Belling- 
ham said quickly and with some wrath. ‘I’m not the 
sort of man who goes round cadging for free profes- 
sional advice. Understand that, Doctor.” 

“T do,” I answered hastily. ‘That wasn’t what I 
meant at all. Is that Miss Bellingham coming in? I 
heard the front door shut.” 

“Yes, that will be my girl, I expect; but don’t run 
away. You’re not afraid of her, are you?” he added 
as I hurriedly picked up my hat. 

“T’m not sure that I’m not,” I answered. “She is 
rather a majestic young lady.” 

Mr. Bellingham chuckled and smothered a yawn, 
and at that moment his daughter entered the room; 
and, in spite of her shabby black dress and a shabbier 
handbag that she carried, I thought her appearance 
and manner fully justified my description. 

“You come in, Miss Bellingham,” I said as she shook 
my hand with cool civility, ‘to find your father yawn- 
ing and me taking my departure. So I have my uses, 
you see. My conversation is the infallible cure for 
insomnia.” 

Miss Bellingham smiled. “I believe I am driving 
you away,” she said. 


46 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Not at all,” I replied hastily. ‘My mission was 
accomplished, that was all.” 

“Sit down for a few moments, Doctor,” urged Mr. 
Bellingham, “and let Ruth sample the remedy. She 
will be affronted if you run away as soon as she comes 
rie 

“Well, you mustn’t let me keep you up,” I said. 

“Oh, T’ll let you know when I fall asleep,” he replied, 
with a chuckle; and with this understanding I sat down 
again—not at all unwillingly. 

At this moment Miss Oman entered with a small 
tray and a smile of which I should not have supposed 
her capable. 

“You'll take your toast and cocoa while they’re hot, 
dear, won’t you?” she said coaxingly. | 

“Yes, I will, Phyllis, thank you,” Miss Bellingham 
answered. “I am only just going to take off my hat,” 
and she left the room, followed by the astonishingly 
transfigured spinster. 

“She returned almost immediately as Mr. Belling- 
ham was in the midst of a profound yawn, and sat 
down to her frugal meal, when her father mystified 
me considerably by remarking: 

“Vou’re late to-night, chick. Have the Shepherd 
Kings been giving trouble?” 

“No,” she replied; ‘‘but I thought I might as well 
get them done. So I dropped in at the Ormond Street 
library on my way home and finished them.” 

“Then they are ready for stuffing now?” 

“Yes.” As she answered she caught my astonished 
eye (for a stuffed Shepherd King is undoubtedly a 
somewhat surprising phenomenon) and laughed softly. 

“We mustn’t talk in riddles like this,” she said, “be- 
fore Doctor Berkeley, or he will turn us both into 


LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL 47 


pillars of salt. My father is referring to my work,” 
she explained to me. 3 

“‘Are you a taxidermist, then?” I asked. 

She hastily set down the cup that she was raising 
to her lips and broke into a ripple of quiet laughter. 

“I am afraid my father has misled you with his ir- 
reverent expressions. He will have to atone by ex- 
plaining.” 

“You see, Doctor,” said Mr. Bellingham, ‘‘Ruth is 
a literary searcher ie 

“Oh, don’t call me a searcher!” Miss Bellingham pro- 
tested. “It suggests the female searcher at a police 
station. Say investigator.” 

“Very well, investigator or investigatrix, if you like. 
She hunts up references and bibliographies at the Mu- 
seum for people who are writing books. She looks up 
everything that has been written on a given subject, 
and then, when she has crammed herself to a bursting- 
point with facts, she goes to her client and disgorges 
and crams him or her, and he or she finally disgorges 
into the Press.” 

“What a disgusting way to put it!” said his daughter. 
“However, that is what it amounts to. I am a literary 
jackal, a collector of provender for the literary lions. 
Is that quite clear?” 

“Perfectly. But I don’t think that, even now, I 
quite understand about the stuffed Shepherd Kings.” 

“Oh, it was not the Shepherd Kings who were to be 
stuffed. It was the author! That was mere obscurity 
of speech on the part of my father. The position is 
this: A venerable Archdeacon wrote an article on the 
patriarch Joseph ? 

“And didn’t know anything about him,” interrupted 








48 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Mr. Bellingham, ‘and got tripped up by a specialist 
who did, and then got shirty v 

“Nothing of the kind,” said Miss Bellingham. “He 
knew as much as venerable archdeacons ought to 
know; but the expert knew more. So the archdeacon 
commissioned me to collect the literature on the state 
of Egypt at the end of the seventeenth dynasty, which 
I have done; and to-morrow I shall go and stuff him, 
as my father expresses it, and then Ui, 

“And then,” Mr. Bellingham interrupted, “the arch- 
deacon will rush forth and pelt that expert with Shep- 
herd Kings and Sequenen-Ra and the whole tag-rag 
and bobtail of the seventeenth dynasty. Oh, there'll 
be wigs on the green, I can tell you.” 

“Ves, I expect there will be quite a skirmish,” said 
Miss Bellingham. And thus dismissing the subject she 
made an energetic attack on the toast while her father 
refreshed himself with a colossal yawn. 

I watched her with furtive admiration and deep and 
growing interest. In spite of her pallor, her weary 
eyes, and her drawn and almost haggard face, she was 
an exceedingly handsome girl; and there was in her 
aspect a suggestion of purpose, of strength and char- 
acter that marked her off from the rank and file of 
womanhood. I noted this as I stole an occasional 
glance at her or turned to answer some remark ad- 
dressed to me; and I noted, too, that her speech, de- 
spite a general undertone of depression, was yet not 
without a certain caustic, ironical humor. She was 
certainly a rather enigmatical young person, but very 
decidedly interesting. 

When she had finished her repast she put aside the 
tray and, opening the shabby handbag, asked: 

“Do you take any interest in Egyptian history? We 








LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL = 49 


are as mad as hatters on the subject. It seems to be 
a family complaint.” 

“T don’t know much about it,”’ I answered. ‘Medi- 
cal studies are rather engrossing and don’t leave much 
time for general reading.” 

“Naturally,” she said. ‘You can’t specialize in 
everything. But if you would care to see how the busi- 
ness of a literary jackal is conducted, I will show you 
my notes.” 

I accepted the offer eagerly (not, I fear, from pure 
enthusiasm for the subject), and she brought forth 
from the bag four blue-covered, quarto notebooks, each 
dealing with one of the four dynasties from the four- 
teenth to the seventeenth. As I glanced through the 
neat and orderly extracts with which they were filled 
we discussed the intricacies of the peculiarly difficult 
and confused period that they covered, gradually low- 
ering our voices as Mr. Bellingham’s eyes closed and 
his head fell against the back of his chair. We had 
just reached the critical reign of Apepa II when a 
resounding snore broke in upon the studious quiet of 
the room and sent us both into a fit of silent laughter. 

“Your conversation has done its work,” she whis- 
pered as I stealthily picked up my hat, and together 
we stole on tiptoe to the door, which she opened with- 
out a sound. Once outside, she suddenly dropped her 
bantering manner and said quite earnestly: 

“How kind it was of you to come and see him to- 
night. You have done him a world of good, and I am 
most grateful. Good-night!” 

She shook hands with me really cordially, and I 
took my way down the creaking stairs in a whirl of 
happiness that I was quite at a loss to account for. 


CHAPTER V 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 


BARNARD’s practise, like most others, was subject to 
those fluctuations that fill the struggling practitioner 
alternately with hope and despair. The work came in 
paroxysms with intervals of almost complete stagnation. 
One of these intermissions occurred on the day after 
my visit to Nevill’s Court, with the result that by half- 
past eleven I found myself wondering what I should 
do with the remainder of the day. The better to con- 
sider this weighty problem, I strolled down to the Em- 
bankment, and, leaning on the parapet, contemplated 
the view across the river; the gray stone bridge with 
its perspective of arches, the picturesque pile of the 
shot-towers, and beyond, the shadowy shapes of the 
Abbey and St. Stephen’s. 

It was a pleasant scene, restful and quiet, with a 
touch of life and a hint of sober romance, when a 
barge swept down through the middle arch of the 
bridge with a lugsail hoisted to a jury mast and a 
white-aproned woman at the tiller. Dreamily I 
watched the craft creep by upon the moving tide, noted 
the low freeboard, almost awash, the careful helms- 
woman, and the dog on the forecastle yapping at the 
distant shore—and thought of Ruth Bellingham. 

What was there about this strange girl that had made 
so deep an impression on me? ‘That was the question 
that I propounded to myself, and not for the first time, 

50 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 51 


Of the fact itself there was no doubt. But what was 
the explanation? Was it her unusual surroundings? 
Her occupation and rather recondite learning? Her 
striking personality and exceptional good looks? Or 
her connection with the dramatic mystery of her lost 
uncle? 

I concluded that it was all of these. Everything 
connected with her was unusual and arresting; but 
over and above these circumstances there was a cer- 
tain sympathy and personal affinity of which I was 
strongly conscious and of which I dimly hoped that she, 
perhaps, was a little conscious too. At any rate, I 
was deeply interested in her; of that there was no 
doubt whatever. Short as our acquaintance had been, 
she held a place in my thoughts that had never been 
held by any other woman. 

From Ruth Bellingham my reflections passed by a 
natural transition to the curious story that her father 
had told me. It was a queer affair, that ill-drawn 
will, with the baffled lawyer protesting in the back- 
ground. It almost seemed as if there must be some- 
thing behind it all, especially when I remembered Mr. 
Hurst’s very singular proposal. But it was out of my 
depth; it was a case for a lawyer, and to a lawyer 
it should go. This very night, I resolved, I would go 
to Thorndyke and give him the whole story as it had 
been told to me. 

And then there happened one of those coincidences 
at which we all wonder when they occur, but which 
are so frequent as to have become enshrined in a 
proverb. For even as I formed the resolution, I ob- 
served two men approaching from the direction of 
Blackfriars, and recognized in them my quondam 
teacher and his junior. 


52 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T was just thinking about you,” I said as they came 
up. 
“Very flattering,” replied Jervis; “but I thought you 
had to talk of the devil.” 

“Perhaps,” suggested Thorndyke, ‘‘he was talking 
to himself. But why were you thinking of us, and 
what was the nature of your thoughts?” 

“My thoughts had reference to the Bellingham case. 
I spent the whole of last evening at Nevill’s Court.” 

“Ha! And are there any fresh developments?” 

“Ves, by Jove! there are. Bellingham gave me a 
full detailed description of the will; and a pretty doc- 
ument it seems to be.” 

“Did he give you permission to repeat the details 
to me?” } 

“Yes. I asked specifically if I might, and he had 
no objection whatever.” 

“Good. We are lunching at Soho to-day as Polton 
has his hands full. Come with us and share our table 
and tell us your story as we go. Will that suit you?” 

It suited me admirably in the present state of the 
practise, and I accepted the invitation with undis- 
sembled glee. 

“Very well,” said Thorndyke; ‘then let us walk 
slowly and finish with matters confidential before we 
plunge into the maddening crowd.” 

We set forth at a leisurely pace along the broad 
pavement and I commenced my narration. As well as 
I could remember, I related the circumstances that 
had led up to the present disposition of the property 
and then proceeded to the actual provisions of the will; 
to all of which my two friends listened with rapt in- 
terest, Thorndyke occasionally stopping me to jot down 
a memorandum in his pocket-book. 


ig 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 53 


“Why, the fellow must have been-a stark lunatic!” 
Jervis exclaimed, when I had finished. ‘He seems to 
have laid himself out with the most devilish ingenuity 
to defeat his own ends.” 

“That is not an uncommon peculiarity with testa- 
tors,” Thorndyke remarked. “A direct and perfectly 
intelligible will is rather the exception. But we can 
hardly judge until we have seen the actual document. 
I suppose Bellingham hasn’t a copy?” 

“T don’t know,” said I; “but I will ask him.” 

“Tf he has one, I should like to look through it,” said 
Thorndyke. ‘The provisions are very peculiar, and, 
as Jervis says, admirably calculated to defeat the tes- 
tator’s wishes if they have been correctly reported. © 
And, apart from that, they have a remarkable bearing 
on the circumstances of the disappearance. I daresay 
you noticed that.” 

“T noticed that it is very much to Hurst’s advantage 
that the body has not been found.” 

“Yes, of course. But there are some other points 
that are very significant. However, it would be pre- 
mature to discuss the terms of the will until we have 
seen the actual document or a certified copy.” 

“Tf there is a copy extant,” I said, “I will try to get 
hold of it. But Bellingham is terribly afraid of being 
suspected of a desire to get professional advice gratis.” 

“That,” said Thorndyke, “is natural enough, and not 
discreditable. But you must overcome his scruples 
somehow. I expect you will be able to. You are a 
plausible young gentleman, as I remember of old, and 
you seem to have established yourself as quite the 
friend of the family.” 

“They are rather interesting people,” I explained; 


54 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“very cultivated and with a strong leaning toward 
archeology. It seems to be in the blood.” 

“Yes,” said Thorndyke; a family tendency, prob- 
ably due to contact and common surroundings rather 
than heredity. So you like Godfrey Bellingham?” 

“Ves. He is a trifle peppery and impulsive but 
quite an agreeable, genial old buffer.” 

“And the daughter,” said Jervis, “what is she like?” 

“Oh, she is a learned lady; works up bibliographies 
and references at the Museum.” 

“Ah!” Jervis exclaimed, with disfavor, ‘I know the 
breed. Inky fingers; no chest to speak of; all side 
and spectacles.” 

I rose artlessly at the gross and palpable bait. 

“You’re quite wrong,” I exclaimed indignantly, con- 
trasting Jervis’s hideous presentment with the comely 
original. ‘She is an exceedingly good-looking girl, 
and her manners all that a lady’s should be. A little 
stiff, perhaps, but then I am only an acquaintance— 
almost a stranger.” , 

“But,” Jervis persisted, “what is she like, in appear- 
ance I mean. Short? fat? sandy? Give us intelligible 
details.” 

I made a rapid mental inventory, assisted by my 
recent cogitations. 

‘She is about five feet seven, slim but rather plump, 
very erect in carriage and graceful in movements; 
black hair, loosely parted in the middle and falling very 
prettily away from the forehead; pale, clear com- 
plexion, dark gray eyes, straight eyebrows, straight, 
well-shaped nose, short mouth, rather full; round chin 
—what the deuce are you grinning at, Jervis?” For 
my friend had suddenly unmasked his batteries and 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 55 


now threatened, like the Cheshire cat, to dissolve into 
a mere abstraction of amusement. 

“Tf there is a copy of that will, Thorndyke,’’ he 
said, “we shall get it. I think you agree with me, 
reverend senior?” 

“TI have already said,” was the reply, ‘that I put 
my trust in Berkeley. And now let us dismiss profes- 
sional topics. This is our hostelry.” 

He pushed open an unpretentious glazed door, and 
we followed him into the restaurant, whereof the at- 
mosphere was pervaded by an appetizing meatiness 
mingled with less agreeable suggestions of the destruc- 
tive distillation of fat. 

It was some two hours later when I wished my 
friends adieu under the golden-leaved plane trees of 
King’s Bench Walk. 

“T won’t ask you to come in now,” said Thorndyke, 
“as we have some consultations this afternoon. But 
come in and see us soon; don’t wait for that copy of 
the will.” 

“No,” said Jervis. “Drop in in the evening when 
your work is done; unless, of course, there is more 
attractive society elsewhere. Oh, you needn’t turn that 
color, my dear child; we have all been young once; 
there is even a tradition that Thorndyke was young 
some time back in the pre-dynastic period.” 

“Don’t take any notice of him, Berkeley,” said 
Thorndyke. “The egg-shell is sticking to his head 
still. He’ll know better when he is my age.” 

“Methuselah!” exclaimed Jervis. “I hope I shan’t 
have to wait as long as that!” 

Thorndyke smiled benevolently at his irrepressible 
junior, and, shaking my hand cordially, turned into 
the entry. 


56 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


From the Temple I wended northward, to the ad- 
jacent College of Surgeons, where I spent a couple of 
profitable hours examining the “pickles” and refresh- 
ing my memory on the subjects of pathology and anat- 
omy; marveling afresh (as every practical anatomist 
must marvel) at the incredibly perfect technique of 
the dissections, and inwardly paying tribute to the 
founder of the collection. At length the warning of 
the clock, combined with an increasing craving for 
tea, drove me forth and bore me toward the scene of 
my not very strenuous labors. My mind was still oc- 
cupied with the contents of the cases and the great 
glass jars, so that I found myself at the corner of 
Fetter Lane without a very clear idea of how I had 
got there. But at that point I was aroused from my 
reflections rather abruptly by a raucous voice in my 
ear. 

“Orrible discovery at Sidcup!” 

I turned wrathfully—for a London street-boy’s yell, 
let off at point-blank range, is, in effect, like the smack 
of an open hand—but the inscription on the staring 
yellow poster that was held up for my inspection 
changed my anger to curiosity. 

“Horrible discovery in a watercress-bed!” 

Now, let prigs deny it if they will, but there is some- 
thing very attractive in a “horrible discovery.” It 
hints at tragedy, at mystery, at romance. It promises 
to bring into our gray and commonplace life that ele- 
ment of the dramatic which is the salt that our exist- 
ence is savored withal. “In a watercress-bed,” too! 
The rusticity of the background seemed to emphasize 
the horror of the discovery, whatever it might be. 

I bought a copy of the paper, and, tucking it under 
my arm, hurried on to the surgery, promising myself 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 57 


a mental feast of watercress; but as I opened the door 
I found myself confronted by a corpulent woman of 
piebald and pimply aspect who saluted me with a deep 
groan. It was the lady from the coal shop in Fleur- 
de-Lys Court. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Jablett,” I said briskly; ‘not 
come about yourself, I hope.” 

“Yes, I have,” she answered, rising and following me 
gloomily into the consulting-room; and then, when I 
had seated her in the patient’s chair and myself at the 
writing table, she continued: “It’s my inside, you 
know, doctor.” 

The statement lacked anatomical precision and 
merely excluded the domain of the skin specialist. I 
accordingly waited for enlightenment and speculated 
on the watercress-beds, while Mrs. Jablett regarded 
me expectantly with a dim and watery eye. 

“Ah!” I said at length; “it’s your—your inside, is 
it, Mrs. Jablett?” 

“VYus. And my ’ead,” she added, with a voluminous 
sigh that filled the apartment with odorous reminis- 
cences of “unsweetened.” 

“Your head aches, does it?” 

“Somethink chronic!” said Mrs. Jablett. ‘Feels as 
if it was a-opening and a-shutting, a-opening and 
a-shutting, and when [I sit down I feel as if I should 
bust.” 

This picturesque description of her sensations—not 
wholly inconsistent with her figure—gave the clue to 
Mrs. Jablett’s sufferings. Resisting a frivolous impulse 
to reassure her as to the elasticity of the human in- 
_ tegument, I considered her case in exhaustive detail, 
coasting delicately round the subject of “unsweetened” 
and finally sent her away, revived in spirits and grasp- 


58 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


ing a bottle of Mist. Sode cum Bismutho from Bar- 
nard’s big stock-jar. Then I went back to investi- 
gate the Horrible Discovery; but before I could open 
the paper, another patient arrived (Impetigo contagi- 
osa, this time, affecting the ‘‘wide and archéd-front 
sublime” of a juvenile Fetter Laner), and then yet 
another, and so on through the evening until at last 
I forgot the watercress-beds altogether. It was only 
when I had purified myself from the evening consulta- 
tions with hot water and a nail-brush and was about to 
sit down to a frugal supper, that I remembered the 
newspaper and fetched it from the drawer of the 
consulting-room table, where it had been hastily thrust 
out of sight. I folded it into a convenient form, and, 
standing it upright against the water-jug, read the re- 
port at my ease as I supped. 

There was plenty of it. Evidently the reporter had 
regarded it as a ‘‘scoop,” and the editor had backed him 
up with ample space and hair-raising head-lines. 


“HORRIBLE DISCOVERY 
IN A WATERCRESS-BED 
AT SIDCUP!” 


“A startling discovery was made yesterday afternoon 
in the course of clearing out a watercress-bed near the 
erstwhile rural village of Sidcup in Kent; a discovery 
that will occasion many a disagreeable qualm to those 
persons who have been in the habit of regaling them- 
selves with this refreshing esculent. But before pro- 
ceeding to a description of the circumstances of the 
actual discovery or of the objects found—which, how- 
ever, it may be stated at once, are nothing more or 
less than the fragments of a dismembered human body 
—-it will be interesting to trace the remarkable chain of 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 59 


coincidences by virtue of which the discovery was 
made. 

“The beds in question have been laid out in a small 
artificial lake fed by a tiny streamlet which forms one 
of the numerous tributaries of the River Cray. Its 
depth is greater than usual in the watercress-beds, 
otherwise the gruesome relics could never have been 
concealed beneath its surface, and the flow of water 
through it, though continuous is slow. The tributary 
streamlet meanders through a succession of pasture 
meadows, in one of which the beds themselves are situ- 
ated, and here throughout most of the year the fleecy 
victims of the human carnivore carry on the industry 
of converting grass into mutton. Now it happened 
some years ago that the sheep frequenting these pas- 
tures became affected with the disease known as ‘liver- 
rot’; and here we must make a short digression into 
the domain of pathology. 

“‘ ‘Liver-rot’ is a disease of quite romantic antece- 
dents. Its cause is a small, flat worm—the liver-fluke 
—which infests the liver and bile-ducts of the affected 
sheep. 

“‘Now how does the worm get into the sheep’s liver? 
That is where the romance comes in. Let us see. 

“The cycle of transformation begins with the deposit 
of the eggs of the fluke in some shallow stream or ditch 
running through pasture lands. Now each egg has a 
sort of lid, which presently opens and lets out a minute, 
hairy creature who swims away in search of a particu- 
lar kind of water-snail—the kind called by naturalists 
Limneea truncatula, Tf he finds a snail, he bores his 
way into its flesh and soon begins to grow and wax fat. 
Then he brings forth a family—of tiny worms quite 
unlike himself, little creatures called redie, which soon 


60 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


give birth to families of young redi@. So they go on 
for several generations, but at last there comes a genera- 
tion of redie which, instead of giving birth to fresh 
redie, produce families of totally different offspring; 
big-headed, long-tailed creatures like miniature tad- 
poles, called by the learned cercarie. The cercarie 
soon wriggle their way out of the body of the snail, and 
then complications arise: for it is the habit of this par- 
ticular snail to leave the water occasionally and take 
a Stroll in the fields. Thus the cercarie, escaping from 
the snail find themselves on the grass whereupon they 
promptly drop their tails and stick themselves to the 
grass-blades. Then comes the unsuspecting sheep to 
take his frugal meal, and, cropping the grass swallows 
it, cercarie and all. But the latter, when they find 
themselves in the sheep’s stomach, make their way 
straight to the bile-ducts, up which they travel to the 
liver. Here, in a few weeks, they grow up into full- 
blown flukes and begin the important business of pro- 
ducing eggs. 

“Such is the pathological romance of the ‘liver-rot’; 
and now what is its connection with this mysterious dis- 
covery? It is this. After the outbreak of ‘liver-rot’ 
above referred to, the ground landlord, a Mr. John 
Bellingham, instructed his solicitor to insert a clause 
in the lease of the beds directing that the latter should 
be periodically cleared and examined by an expert to 
make sure that they were free from the noxious water- 
snails. ‘The last lease expired about two years ago, 
and since then the beds have been out of cultivation; 
but, for the safety of the adjacent pastures, it was con- 
sidered necessary to make the customary periodical 
inspection, and it was in the course of cleaning the 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 61 


beds for this purpose that the present discovery was 
ade. 

“The operation began two days ago. A gang of three 
men proceeded systematically to grub up the plants 
and collect the multitudes of water-snails that they 
might be examined by the expert to see if any obnoxious 
species were present. They had cleared nearly half of 
the beds when, yesterday afternoon, one of the men 
working in the deepest part came upon some bones, 
the appearance of which excited his suspicion. There- 
upon he called his mates, and they carefully picked 
away the plants piece-meal, a process that soon laid 
bare an unmistakable human hand lying on the mud 
amongst the roots. Fortunately they had the wisdom 
not to disturb the remains, but at once sent off a mes- 
sage to the police. Very soon, an inspector and a 
sergeant, accompanied by the divisional surgeon, ar- 
rived on the scene, and were able to view the remains 
lying as they had been found. And now another very 
strange fact came to light; for it was seen that the 
hand—a left one—lying on the mud was minus its third 
finger. This is regarded by the police as a very im- 
portant fact as bearing on the question of identification, 
seeing that the number of persons having the third 
finger of the left hand missing must be quite small. 
After a thorough examination on the spot, the bones 
were carefully collected and conveyed to the mortuary, 
where they now lie awaiting further inquiries. 

“The divisional surgeon, Dr. Brandon, in an inter- 
view with our representative, made the following state- 
ments: 

““¢The bones are those of the left arm of a middle- 
aged or elderly man about five feet eight inches in 
height. All the bones of the arm are present, in- 


62 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


cluding the scapula, or shoulder-blade, and the clavicle, 
or collar-bone, but the three bones of the third finger 
are missing.’ 

“‘ “Ts this a deformity or has the finger been cut off?’ 
our correspondent asked. 

‘“‘ ‘The finger has been amputated,’ was the reply. 
‘If it had been absent from birth, the corresponding 
hand bone, or metacarpal, would have been wanting or 
deformed, whereas it is present and quite normal.’ 

‘“‘ “How long have the bones been in the water?’ was 
the next question. 

““ “More than a year, I should say. They are quite 
clean; there is not a vestige of the soft structures 
left.’ 

“lave you any theory as to how the arm came to be 
deposited where it was found?’ 

‘¢ ‘T should rather not answer that question,’ was the 
guarded response. 

‘““‘One more question,’ our correspondent urged. 
‘The ground landlord, Mr. John Bellingham; is he 
not the gentleman who disappeared so mysteriously 
some time ago?’ 

‘¢ “So I understand,’ Dr. Brandon replied. 

“‘ ‘Can you tell me if Mr. Bellingham had lost the 
third finger of his left hand?’ 

“‘“T cannot say,’ said Dr. Brandon; and he added 
with a smile, ‘you had better ask the police.’ 

‘“‘That is how the matter stands at present. But we 
understand that the police are making active inquiries 
for any missing man who has lost the third finger of 
his left hand, and if any of our readers know of such 
a person, they are earnestly requested to communicate 
at once, either with us or the authorities. 


THE WATERCRESS-BED 63 


“‘Also we believe that a systematic search is to be 
made for further remains.” 


I laid the newspaper down and fell into a train of 
reflection. It was certainly a most mysterious affair. 
The thought that had evidently come to the reporter’s 
mind stole naturally into mine. Could these remains 
be those of John Bellingham? It was obviously pos- 
sible, though I could not but see that the fact of the 
bones having been found on his land, while it undoubt- 
edly furnished the suggestion, did not in any way add 
to its probability. Then connection was accidental and 
in nowise relevant. 

Then, too, there was the missing finger. No refer- 
ence to any such deformity had been made in the ori- 
ginal report of the disappearance, though it could 
hardly have been overlooked. But it was useless to 
speculate without facts. I should be seeing Thorndyke 
in the course of the next few days, and, undoubtedly, if 
the discovery had any bearing upon the disappearance 
of John Bellingham, I should hear of it. With such a 
reflection I rose from the table, and, adopting the advice 
contained in the spurious Johnsonian quotation, pro- 
ceeded to “take a walk in Fleet Street” before settling 
down for the evening. 


CHAPTER VI 


SIDELIGHTS 


THE association of coal with potatoes is one upon 
which I have frequently speculated, without arriving 
at any more satisfactory explanation than that both 
products are of the earth, earthy. Of the connection 
itself Barnard’s practise furnished several instances 
besides Mrs. Jablett’s establishment in Fleur-de-Lys 
Court, one of which was a dark and mysterious cavern 
a foot below the level of the street, that burrowed under 
an ancient house on the west side of Fetter Lane—a 
crinkly, timber house of the three-decker type that 
leaned back drunkenly from the road as if about to sit 
down in its own back yard. 

Passing this repository of the associated products 
about ten o’clock in the morning, I perceived in the 
shadows of the cavern no less a person than Miss 
Oman. She saw me at the same moment, and beckoned 
peremptorily with a hand that held a large Spanish 
onion. I approached with a deferential smile. 

“What a magnificent onion, Miss Oman! and how 
generous of you to offer it to me——” 

“T wasn’t offering it to you. But there! Isn’t it just 
like a man * 

“Tsn’t what just like a man?” I interrupted. “If you 
mean the onion——” 

“T don’t!” she snapped; “and I wish you wouldn’t 
talk such a parcel of nonsense. A grown man and a 

64 





SIDELIGHTS 65 


member of a serious profession, too! You ought to 
know better.” 

“T suppose I ought,” I said reflectively. And she 
continued: 

“TI called in at the surgery just now.” 

“To see me?” 

“What else should I come for? Do you suppose 
that I called to consult the bottle-boy?” 

“Certainly not, Miss Oman. So you find the lady 
doctor no use, after all?” 

Miss Oman gnashed her teeth at me (and very fine 
teeth they were too). 

“I called,” she said majestically, “on behalf of Miss 
Bellingham.” 

My facetiousness evaporated instantly. “I hope 
Miss Bellingham is not ill,” I said with a sudden anx- 
iety that elicited a sardonic smile from Miss Oman. 

“No,” was the reply, “she is not ill, but she has cut 
her hand rather badly. It’s her right hand too, and she 
can’t afford to lose the use of it, not being a great, 
hulky, lazy, lolloping man. So you had better go and 
put some stuff on it.” 

With this advice, Miss Oman whisked to the right- 
about and vanished into the depths of the cavern like 
the witch of Wokey, while I hurried on to the surgery 
to provide myself with the necessary instruments and 
materials, and thence proceeded to Nevill’s Court. 

Miss Oman’s juvenile maidservant, who opened the 
door to me, stated the existing conditions with epi- 
grammatic conciseness. 

“Mr. Bellingham is hout, sir; but Miss Pellinwiverh 
is hin.” 

Having thus delivered herself she retreated toward 
the kitchen and I ascended the stairs, at the head of 


66 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


which I found Miss Bellingham awaiting me with her 
right hand encased in what looked like a white box- 
ing-glove. 

“T’m glad you have come,” she said. ‘“Phyllis—Miss 
Oman, you know—has kindly bound up my hand, but I 
should like you to see that it is all right.” 

We went into the sitting-room, where I laid out my 
paraphernalia on the table while I inquired into the 
particulars of the accident. 

“It is most unfortunate that it should have hap- 
pened just now,” she said, as I wrestled with one of 
those remarkable feminine knots that, while they seem 
to defy the utmost efforts of human ingenuity to untie, 
yet have a singular habit of untying themselves at in- 
opportune moments. 

“Why just now in particular?” I asked. 

“Because I have some specially important work to 
do. A very learned lady who is writing an historical 
book has commissioned me to collect all the literature 
relating to the Tell-el-Amarna letters—the cuneiform 
tablets, you know, of Amenhotep the Fourth.” 

“Well,” I said soothingly, “I expect your hand will 
soon be well.” 

“Yes, but that won’t do. The work has to be done 
immediately. I have to send in completed notes not 
later than this day week, and it will be quite impos- 
sible. I am dreadfully disappointed.” 

By this time I had unwound the voluminous wrap- 
pings and exposed the injury—a deep gash in the palm 
that must have narrowly missed a good-sized artery. 
Obviously the hand would be useless for fully a week. 

“T suppose,” she said, “you couldn’t patch it up so 
that I could write with it?” 

I shook my head. 


SIDELIGHTS 67 


“No, Miss Bellingham. I shall have to put it on a 
splint. We can’t run any risks with a deep wound 
like this.” 

“Then I shall have to give up the commission, and I 
don’t know how my client will get the work done in 
time. You see, I am pretty well up in the literature 
of Ancient Egypt; in fact, I was to receive special pay- 
ment on that account. And it would have been such an 
interesting task, too. However, it can’t be helped.” 

I proceeded methodically with the application of the 
dressings, and meanwhile reflected. It was evident that 
she was deeply disappointed. Loss of work meant loss 
of money, and it needed but a glance at her rusty 
black dress to see that there was little margin for that. 
Possibly, too, there was some special need to be met. 
Her manner seemed almost to imply that there was. 
And at this point I had a brilliant idea. 

“T’m not sure that it can’t be helped,” said I. 

She looked at me inquiringly, and I continued: “T 
am going to make a proposition, and I shall ask you 
to consider it with an open mind.” 

“That sounds rather portentous,” said she; “but 
I promise. What is it?” 

“Tt is this: When I was a student I acquired the 
useful art of writing shorthand. I am not a lightning 
reporter, you understand, but I can take matter down 
from dictation at quite respectable speed.” 

MV eg 7? 

“Well, I have several hours free every day—usually 
the whole afternoon up to six or half-past—and it oc- 
curs to me that if you were to go to the Museum in 
the mornings you could get out your books, look up 
passages (you could do that without using your right 
hand), and put in bookmarks. Then I could come 


68 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


along in the afternoon and you could read out the 
selected passages to me, and I could take them down in 
shorthand. We should get through as much in a couple 
of hours as you could in a day using long-hand.” 

“Oh, but how kind of you, Dr. Berkeley!” she ex- 
claimed. “How very kind! Of course, I couldn’t 
think of taking up all your leisure in that way; but 
I do appreciate your kindness very much.” 

I was rather chapfallen at this very definite refusal, 
but persisted feebly: 

“T wish you would. It may seem rather a cheek 
for a comparative stranger like me to make such a 
proposal to a lady; but if you’d been a man—in those 
special circumstances—I should have made it all the 
same, and you would have accepted as a matter of 
course.” 

“IT doubt that. At any rate, I am not a man. I 
sometimes wish I were.” 

“Oh, I am sure you are much better as you are!” 
I exclaimed, with such earnestness that we both 
laughed. And at this moment Mr. Bellingham entered 
the room carrying several large brand-new books in 
a strap. 

“Well, I’m sure!” he exclaimed genially; “here are 
pretty goings on. Doctor and patient giggling like a 
pair of schoolgirls! What’s the joke?” 

He thumped his parcel of books down on the table 
and listened smilingly while my unconscious witticism 
was expounded. 

“The doctor’s quite right,” he said. ‘“You’ll do as 
you are chick; but the Lord knows what sort of man 
you would make. You take his advice and let well 
alone.” 

Finding him in this genial frame of mind, I ven- 


SIDELIGHTS 69 


tured to explain my proposition to him and to enlist 
his support. He considered it with attentive approval, 
and when I had finished turned to his daughter. 

“What is your objection, chick?” he asked. 

“Tt would give Doctor Berkeley such a fearful lot 
of work,” she answered. 

“It would give him a fearful lot of pleasure,”’ I said. 
“It would really.” 

“Then why not?” said Mr. Bellingham. ‘We don’t 
mind being under an obligation to the Doctor, do we?”’ 

“Oh, it isn’t that!” she exclaimed hastily. 

“Then take him at his word. He means it. It isa 
kind action and he’ll like doing it, I’m sure. That’s all 
right, Doctor; she accepts, don’t you, chick?” 

“Yes, if you say so, I do; and most thankfully.” 

She accompanied the acceptance with a gracious 
smile that was in itself a large repayment on account, 
and when we had made the necessary arrangements, I 
hurried away in a state of the most perfect satisfaction 
to finish my morning’s work and order an early lunch. 

When I called for her a couple of hours later I found 
her waiting in the garden with the shabby handbag, of 
which I relieved her, and we set forth together, watched 
jealously by Miss Oman, who had accompanied her to 
the gate. 

As I walked up the court with this wonderful maid 
by my side I could hardly believe in my good fortune. 
By her presence and my own resulting happiness the 
mean surroundings became glorified and the commonest 
objects transfigured into things of beauty. What a 
delightful thoroughfare, for instance, was Fetter Lane, 
with its quaint charm and medieval grace! I snuffed 
the cabbage-laden atmosphere and seemed to breathe 
the scent of the asphodel. Holborn was even as the 


70 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Elysian Fields; the omnibus that bore us westward was 
a chariot of glory; and the people who swarmed ver- 
minously on the pavements bore the semblance of the 
children of light. 

Love is a foolish thing judged by workaday stan- 
dards, and the thoughts and actions of lovers foolish 
beyond measure. But the workaday standard is the 
wrong one, after all; for the utilitarian mind does but 
busy itself with the trivial and transitory interests of 
life, behind which looms the great and everlasting 
reality of the love of man and woman. There is more 
significance in a nightingale’s song in the hush of a 
summer night than in all the wisdom of Solomon (who, 
by the way, was not without his little experiences of the 
tender passion). 

The janitor in the little glass box by the entrance 
to the library inspected us and passed us on, with a 
silent benediction, to the lobby, whence (when I had 
handed my stick to a bald-headed demigod and received 
a talismanic disc in exchange) we entered the enormous 
rotunda of the reading-room. 

I have often thought that, if some lethal vapor of 
highly: preservative properties—such as formaldehyde, 
for instance—could be shed into the atmosphere of this 
apartment, the entire and complete collection of books 
and book-worms would be well worth preserving, for 
the enlightenment of posterity, as a sort of anthropo- 
logical appendix to the main collection of the Museum. 
For, surely, nowhere else in the world are so many 
strange and abnormal human beings gathered together 
in one place. And a curious question that must have 
occurred to many observers is: Whence do these singu- 
lar creatures come, and whither do they go when the 
very distinct-faced clock (adjusted to literary eyesight) 


SIDELIGHTS a1 


proclaims closing time? ‘The tragic-faced gentleman, 
for instance, with the corkscrew ringlets that bob up 
and down like spiral springs as he walks? Or the 
short, elderly gentleman in the black cassock and 
bowler hat, who shatters your nerves by turning sud- 
denly and revealing himself at a middle-aged woman? 
Whither do they go? One never sees them elsewhere. 
Do they steal away at closing time into the depths of 
the Museum and hide themselves until morning in 
sarcophagi or mummy cases? Or do they creep through 
spaces in the book-shelves and spend the night be- 
hind the volumes in a congenial atmosphere of leather 
and antique paper? Whocan say? What I do know 
is that when Ruth Bellingham entered the reading- 
room she appeared in comparison with these like a 
creature of another order; even as the head of Antinous, 
which formerly stood (it has since been moved) amidst 
the portrait-busts of the Roman Emperors, seemed 
like the head of a god set in a portrait gallery of illus- 
trious baboons. 

“What have we got to do?” I asked when we had 
found a vacant seat. “Do you want to look up the 
catalogue?” 

“No, I have the tickets in my bag. The books are 
waiting in the ‘kept books’ department.” 

__ I placed my hat on the leather-covered shelf, dropped 

her gloves into it—how delightfully intimate and com- 
panionable it seemed!—altered the numbers on the 
tickets, and then we proceeded together to the “kept 
books” desk to collect the volumes that contained the 
material for our day’s work. 

It was a blissful afternoon. ‘Two and a half hours 
of happiness unalloyed did I spend at that shiny, 
leather-clad desk, guiding my nimble pen across the 


72 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


pages of the notebook. It introduced me to a new 
world—a world in which love and learning, sweet in- 
timacy and crusted archeology, were mingled into the 
oddest, most whimsical and most delicious confection 
that the mind of man can conceive. Hitherto, these 
recondite histories had been far beyond my ken. Of 
the wonderful heretic, Amenhotep the Fourth, I had al- 
ready heard—at the most he had been a mere name; 
the Hittites a mythical race of undetermined habitat; 
while cuneiform tablets had presented themselves to 
my mind merely as an uncouth kind of fossil biscuit 
suited to the digestion of a prehistoric ostrich. 

Now all this was changed. As we sat with our chairs 
creaking together and she whispered the story of those 
stirring times into my receptive ear—talking is strictly 
forbidden in the reading-room—the disjointed frag- 
ments arranged themselves into a romance of supreme 
fascination. Egyptian, Babylonian, Aramean, Hittite, 
Memphis, Babylon, Hamath, Megiddo—I swallowed 
them all thankfully, wrote them down, and asked for 
more. Only once did I disgrace myself. An elderly 
clergyman of ascetic and acidulous aspect had passed 
us with a glance of evident disapproval, clearly setting 
us down as intruding philanderers; and when I con- 
trasted the parson’s probable conception of the whis- 
pered communications that were being poured into my 
ear so tenderly and confidentially with the dry reality, 
I chuckled aloud. But my fair taskmistress only 
paused, with her finger on the page, smilingly to re- 
buke me, and then went on with the dictation. She was 
certainly a Tartar for work. 

It was a proud moment for me when, in response to 
my interrogative ““Yes?” my companion said “That is 
all” and closed the book. We had extracted the pith 


SIDELIGHTS 73 


and marrow of six considerable volumes in two and 
a half hours. 

“You have been better than your word,” she said. 
“Tt would have taken me two full days of really hard 
work to make the notes that you have written down 
since we commenced. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“‘There’s no need to. I’ve enjoyed myself and pol- 
ished up my shorthand. What is the next thing? We 
shall want some books for to-morrow, shan’t we?” 

“Yes. I have made out a list, so if you will come 
with me to the catalogue desk I will look up the num- 
bers and ask you to write the tickets.” 

The selection of a fresh batch of authorities oc- 
cupied us for another quarter of an hour, and then, 
having handed in the volumes that we had squeezed 
dry, we took our way out of the reading-room. 

“Which way shall we go?” she asked as we passed 
out of the gate, where stood a massive policeman, like 
the guardian angel at the gate of Paradise (only, thank 
Heaven! he bore no flaming sword forbidding re-entry). 

“We are going,” I replied, “to Museum Street, where 
is a milkshop in which one can get an excellent cup of 
tea.” 

She looked as if she would have demurred, but even- 
tually followed obediently, and we were soon settled 
side by side at the little marble-topped table, retrac- 
ing the ground we had covered in the afternoon’s work 
and discussing various points of interest over a joint 
teapot. 

“Have you been doing this sort of work long?” I 
asked, as she handed me my second cup of tea. 

“Professionally,” she answered, “only about two 
years; since we broke up our home, in fact. But long 
before that I used to come to the Museum with my 


74 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Uncle John—the one who disappeared, you know, in 
that dreadfully mysterious way—and help him to look 
up references. We were good friends, he and I.” 

“I suppose he was a very learned man?” I sug- 
gested. 

“Yes, in a certain way; in the way of the better- 
class collector he was very learned indeed. He knew 
the contents of every museum in the world, in so far 
as they were connected with Egyptian antiquities, and 
had studied them specimen by specimen. Conse- 
quently, as Egyptology is largely a museum science, he 
was a learned Egyptologist. But his real interest was 
in things rather than events. Of course, he knew a 
great deal—a very great deal—about Egyptian history, 
but still he was, before all, a collector.” 

“‘And what will happen to his collection if he is really 
dead?” 

“The greater part of it goes to the British Museum 
by his will, and the remainder he has left to his solicitor, 
Mr. Jellicoe.” 

“To Mr. Jellicoe! Why, what will Mr. Jellicoe do 
with Egyptian antiquities?” 

“Oh, he is an Egyptologist too, and quite an enthu- 
siast. He has really a fine collection of scarabs and 
other small objects such as it is possible to keep in a 
private house. I have always thought that it was his 
enthusiasm for everything Egyptian that brought him 
and my uncle together on terms of such intimacy; 
though I believe he is an excellent lawyer, and he is — 
certainly a very discreet, cautious man.” 

“Ts he? I shouldn’t have thought so, judging by 
your uncle’s will.” 

“Oh, but that is not Mr. Jellicoe’s fault. He as- 
sures us that he entreated my uncle to let him draw up 


SIDELIGHTS 75 


a fresh document with more reasonable provisions. 
But he says Uncle John was immovable; and he really 
was a rather obstinate man. Mr. Jellicoe repudiates 
any responsibility in the matter. He washes his hands 
of the whole affair, and says that it is the will of a 
lunatic. And so it is, I was glancing through it only 
a night or two ago, and really I cannot conceive how 
a sane man could have written such nonsense.” 

“You have a copy then?” I asked eagerly, remem- 
bering Thorndyke’s parting instructions. 

“Yes. Would you like to see it? I know my 
father has told you about it, and it is worth reading 
as a curiosity of perverseness.” 

“TI should very much like to show it to my friend, 
Doctor Thorndyke,” I replied. ‘He said he would be 
interested to read it and learn the exact provisions; and 
it might be well to let him, and hear what he has to 
say about it.” 

“T see no objection,” she rejoined; ‘‘but you know 
what my father is: his horror, I mean, of what he calls 
‘cadging for advice gratis.’ ” 

“Oh, but he need have no scruples on that score. 
Doctor Thorndyke wants to see the will because the 
case interests him. He is an enthusiast, you know, 
and he put the request as a personal favor to him- 
self.” 

“That is very nice and delicate of him, and I will 
explain the position to my father. If he is willing for 
Doctor Thorndyke to see the copy, I will send or bring 
it over this evening. Have we finished?” 

I regretfully admitted that we had, and, when I had 
paid the modest reckoning, we sallied forth, turning 
back with one accord into Great Russell Street to avoid 
the noise and bustle of the larger thoroughfares. 


76 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“What sort of man was your uncle?” I asked pres- 
ently, as we walked along the quiet, dignified street. 
And then I added hastily: “I hope you don’t think me 
inquisitive, but, to my mind, he presents himself as 
a kind of mysterious abstraction; the unknown quan- 
tity of a legal problem.” 

“My Uncle John,” she answered reflectively, “was 
a very peculiar man, rather obstinate, very self-willed, 
what people call ‘masterful,’ and decidedly wrong- 
headed and unreasonable.” 

“That is certainly the impression that the terms of 
his will convey,” I said. 

“Yes, and not the will only. There was the absurd 
allowance that he made to my father. That was a ridic- 
ulous arrangement, and very unfair too. He ought 
to have divided the property up as my grandfather in- 
tended. And yet he was by no means ungenerous, only 
he would have his own way, and his own way was very 
commonly the wrong way.” 

“TI remember,” she continued, after a short pause, 
“‘a very odd instance of his wrong-headedness and ob- 
stinacy. It was a small matter, but very typical of 
him. He had in his collection a beautiful little ring 
of the eighteenth dynasty. It was said to have be- 
longed to Queen Ti, the mother of our friend Amen- 
hotep the Fourth; but I don’t think that could have 
been so, because the device on it was the Eye of 
Osiris, and Ti, as you know, was an Aten-worshiper. | 
However, it was a very charming ring, and Uncle John, 
who had a queer sort of devotion to the mystical eye 
of Osiris, commissioned a very clever goldsmith to 
make two exact copies of it, one for himself and one 
for me. The goldsmith naturally wanted to take the 
measurements of our fingers, but this Uncle John 


SIDELIGHTS 77 


would not hear of; the rings were to be exact copies, 
and an exact copy must be the same size as the ori- 
ginal, You can imagine the result; my ring was so 
loose that I couldn’t keep it in my finger, and Uncle 
John’s was so tight that though he did manage to get 
it on, he was never able to get it off. And it was 
only the circumstance that his left hand was decidedly 
smaller than his right that made it possible for him to 
wear it all.” 

‘So you never wore your copy?” 

“No. I wanted to have it altered to make it fit, 
but he objected strongly; so I put it away, and have 
it in a box still.” 

_ “He must have been an extraordinarily pig-headed 
old fellow,” I remarked. 

“Yes; he was very tenacious. He annoyed my father 
a good deal, too, by making unnecessary alterations in 
the house in Queen Square when he fitted up his mu- 
seum. We have a certain sentiment with regard to 
that house. Our people have lived in it ever since it 
was built, when the square was first laid out in the 
reign of Queen Anne, after whom it was named. It is 
a dear old house. Would you like to see it? We are 
quite near it now.” 

I assented eagerly. If it had been a coal-shed or a 
fried-fish shop I would still have visited it with plea- 
sure, for the sake of prolonging our walk; but I was 
also really interested in this old house as a part of the 
background of the mystery of the vanished John Bel- 
lingham. 

We crossed into Cosmo Place, with its quaint row 
of the now rare, cannon-shaped iron posts, and passing 
through stood for a few moments looking into the peace- 
ful, stately old square. A party of boys disported 


78 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


themselves noisily on the range of stone posts that 
form a bodyguard round the ancient lamp-surmounted 
pump, but otherwise the place was wrapped in dignified 
repose suited to its age and station. And very pleasant 
it looked on this summer afternoon with the sunlight 
gilding the foliage of its widespreading plane trees 
and lighting up the warm-toned brick of the house- 
fronts. We walked slowly down the shady west side, 
near the middle of which my companion halted. 

“This is the house,” she said. “It looks gloomy 
and forsaken now; but it must have been a delightful 
house in the days when my ancestors could look out 
of the windows through the open end of the square 
across the fields of meadows to the heights of Hamp- 
stead and Highgate.” 

She stood at the edge of the pavement looking up 
with a curious wistfulness at the old house; a very 
pathetic figure I thought, with her handsome face and 
proud carriage, her threadbare dress and shabby gloves, 
standing at the threshold of the home that had been 
her family’s for generations, that should now have been 
hers, and that was shortly to pass away into the hands 
of strangers. 

I, too, looked up at it with a strange interest, im- 
pressed by something gloomy and forbidding in its 
aspect. The windows were shuttered from basement 
to attic, and no sign of life was visible. Silent, ne- 
glected, desolate, it breathed an air of tragedy. It 
seemed to mourn in sackcloth and ashes for its lost 
master. The massive door within the splendid carven 
portico was crusted with grime, and seemed to have 
passed out of use as completely as the ancient lamp- 
irons or the rusted extinguishers wherein the footmen 
were wont to quench their torches when some Belling- 


SIDELIGHTS 79 


ham dame was borne up the steps in her gilded chair, 
in the days of good Queen Anne. 

It was in a somewhat sobered frame of mind that we 
presently turned away and started homeward by way 
of Great Ormond Street. My companion was deeply 
thoughtful, relapsing for a while into that somberness 
of manner that had so impressed me when I first met 
her. Nor was I without a certain sympathetic pen- 
siveness; as if, from the great, silent house, the spirit 
of the vanished man had issued forth to bear us com- 
pany. 

But still it was a delightful walk, and I was sorry 
when at last we arrived at the entrance to Nevill’s 
Court, and Miss Bellingham halted and held out her 
hand. 

““Good-by,” she said; ‘‘and many, many thanks for 
your invaluable help. Shall I take the bag?” 

“If you want it. But I must take out the note- 
books.” 

“Why must you take them?” she asked. 

“Why, haven’t I got to copy the notes out into long- 
hand?” 

An expression of utter consternation spread over her 
face; in fact, she was so completely taken aback that 
she forgot to release my hand. 

“Heavens!” she exclaimed. ‘How idiotic of me! 
But it is impossible, Doctor Berkeley! It will take 
you hours!” 

“Tt is perfectly possible, and it is going to be done; 
otherwise the notes would be useless. Do you want the 
bag?” 

“No, of course not. But I am positively appalled. 
Hadn’t you better give up the idea?” 

“And this is the end of our collaboration?” I ex- 


80 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


claimed tragically, giving her hand a final squeeze 
(whereby she became suddenly aware of its position, 
and withdrew it rather hastily). “Would you throw 
away a whole afternoon’s work? I won’t certainly; so, 
good-by until to-morrow. I shall turn up in the read- 
ing-room as early as I can. You had better take the 
tickets. Oh, and you won’t forget about the copy of 
‘the will for Doctor Thorndyke, will you?” 

“No; if my father agrees, you shall have it this 
evening.” 

She took the tickets from me, and, thanking me yet 
again, retired into the court. 


CHAPTER VII 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 


Tue task upon which I had embarked so light-heart- 
edly, when considered in cold blood, did certainly ap- 
pear, as Miss Bellingham had said, rather appalling. 
The result of two and a half hours’ pretty steady work 
at an average speed of nearly a hundred words a min- 
ute, would take some time to transcribe into long- 
hand; and if the notes were to be delivered punctually 
on the morrow, the sooner I got to work the better. 

Recognizing this truth, I lost no time, but, within 
five minutes of my arrival at the surgery, was seated 
at the writing-table with my copy before me busily 
converting the sprawling, inexpressive characters into 
good, legible round-hand. 

The occupation was by no means unpleasant, apart 
from the fact that it was a labor of love; for the sen- 
tences, as I picked them up, were fragrant with the 
reminiscences of the gracious whisper in which they 
had first come to me. And then the matter itself was 
full of interest. I was gaining a fresh outlook on life, 
was crossing the threshold of a new world (which was 
her world); and so the occasional interruptions from 
the patients, while they gave me intervals of en- 
forced rest, were far from welcome. 

The evening wore on without any sign from Nevill’s 
Court, and I began to fear that Mr. Bellingham’s 
scruples had proved insurmountable. Not, I am afraid, 

81 


82 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


that I was so much concerned for the copy of the will 
as for the possibility of a visit, no matter howsoever 
brief, from my fair employer; and when, on the stroke 
of half-past seven, the surgery door flew open with 
startling abruptness, my fears were allayed and my 
hopes shattered simultaneously. For it was Miss Oman 
who stalked in, holding out a blue foolscap envelope 
with a warlike air as if it were an ultimatum. 

“T’ve brought you this from Mr. Bellingham,” she 
said. “There’s a note inside.” 

“May I read the note, Miss Oman?” I asked. 

“Bless the man!” she exclaimed. ‘What else would 
you do with it? Isn’t that what it’s brought for?” 

I supposed it was; and, thanking her for her gracious 
permission, I glanced through the note—a few lines 
authorizing me to show the copy of the will to Dr. 
Thorndyke. When I looked up from the paper I found 
her eyes fixed on me with an expression critical and 
rather disapproving. 

‘You seem to be making yourself mighty agreeable 
in a certain quarter,” she remarked. 

“T make myself universally agreeable. It is my na- 
ture to.” 

““Ha!”? she snorted. 

“Don’t you find me rather agreeable?” I asked. 

“Oily,” said Miss Oman. And then with a sour 
smile at the open notebooks, she remarked: 

““You’ve got some work to do now; quite a change for 
you.” 

“A delightful change, Miss Oman. ‘For Satan find- 
eth’—but no doubt you are acquainted with the philo- 
sophical works of Dr. Watts?” 

“Tf you are referring to ‘idle hands,’” she replied, 
“Tl give you a bit of advice. Don’t you keep that 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 83 


hand idle any longer than is really necessary. I have 
my suspicions about that splint—oh, you know what 
I mean,” and before I had time to reply, she had taken 
advantage of the entrance of a couple of patients to 
whisk out of the surgery with the abruptness that had 
distinguished her arrival. 

The evening consultations were considered to be over 
by half-past eight; at which time Adolphus was wont 
with exemplary punctuality to close the outer door of 
the surgery. To-night he was not less prompt than 
usual; and having performed this, his last daily office, 
and turned down the surgery gas, he reported the fact 
and took his departure. 

As his retreating footsteps died away and the slam- 
ming of the outer door announced his final disappear- 
ance, I sat up and stretched myself. The envelope 
containing the copy of the will lay on the table, and 
I considered it thoughtfully. It ought to be conveyed 
to Thorndyke with as little delay as possible, and, as 
it certainly could not be trusted out of my hands, it 
ought to be conveyed by me. 

I looked at the notebooks. Nearly two hours’ work 
had made a considerable impression on the matter that 
I had to transcribe, but still, a great deal of the task 
yet remained to be done. However, I reflected, I could 
put in a couple of hours or more before going to bed 
and there would be an hour or two to spare in the morn- 
ing. Finally I locked the notebooks, open as they were, 
in the writing-table drawer, and slipping the envelope 
into my pocket, set out for the Temple. 

The soft chime of the Treasury clock was telling 
out, in confidential tones, the third quarter as I rapped 
with my stick on the forbidding ‘‘oak” of my friends’ 
chambers. There was no response, nor had I perceived 


84 ‘THE EVE OF OSIRIS 


any gleam of light from the windows as I approached, 
and I was considering the advisability of trying the 
laboratory on the next floor, when footsteps on the 
stone stairs and familiar voices gladdened my ear. 

“Hallo, Berkeley!”’ said Thorndyke, ‘‘do we find you 
waiting like a Peri at the gates of Paradise? Polton is 
upstairs, you know, tinkering at one of his inventions. 
If you ever find the nest empty, you had better go 
up and bang at the laboratory door. He’s always there 
in the evenings.” 

“T haven’t been waiting long,” said I, “and I was just 
thinking of rousing him up when you came.” 

“That was right,” said Thorndyke, turning up the. 
gas. “‘And what news do you bring? Do I see a blue 
envelope sticking out of your pocket?” 

“You do.” 

“Ts it a copy of the will?” he asked. 

I answered “yes,” and added that I had full permis- 
sion to show it to him. 

“What did I tell you?” exclaimed Jervis. “Didn’t I 
say that he would get the copy for us if it existed?” 

“We admit the excellence of your prognosis,” said 
Thorndyke, “but there is no need to be boastful. Have 
you read through the document, Berkeley?” 

“No, I haven’t taken it out of the envelope.” 

“Then it will be equally new to us all, and we shall 
see if it tallies with your description.” 

He placed three easy-chairs at a convenient distance 
from the light, and Jervis, watching him with a smile, 
remarked: 

“Now Thorndyke is going to enjoy himself. To him, 
a perfectly unintelligible will is a thing of beauty and a 
joy for ever; especially if associated with some kind of 
recondite knavery.” 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 8s 


“TY don’t know,” said I, “that this will is particularly 
unintelligible. The mischief seems to be that it is rather 
too intelligible. However, here it is,” and I handed it 
over to Thorndyke. 

“I suppose that we can depend on this copy,” said 
the latter, as he drew out the document and glanced 
at it. ‘Oh, yes,” he added, “I see it is copied by God- 
frey Bellingham, compared with the original and certi- 
fied correct. In that case I will get you to read it out 
slowly, Jervis, and I will make a rough copy for refer- 
ence. Let us make ourselves comfortable and light our 
pipes before we begin.” 

He provided himself with a writing-pad, and, when 
we had seated ourselves and got our pipes well alight, 
Jervis. opened the document, and with a PremOOll oy 
“them!” commenced the reading. 


“In the name of God Amen. This is the last will and 
testament of me John Bellingham of number 141 Queen 
Square in the parish of St. George Bloomsbury Lon- 
don in the county of Middlesex Gentleman made this 
twenty-first day of September in the year of our Lord 
one thousand eight hundred and ninety-two. 

“rt, I give and bequeath unto Arthur Jellicoe of num- 
ber 184 New Square Lincoln’s Inn London in the 
county of Middlesex Attorney-at-law the whole of my 
collection of seals and scarabs and those in my cabinets 
marked A, B, and D together with the contents thereof 
and the sum of two thousand pounds sterling free of 
legacy duty. 

“Unto the trustees of the British Museum the resi- 
due of my collection of antiquities. 

“Unto my cousin George Hurst of the Poplars El- 
tham in the county of Kent the sum of five thousand 


86 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


pounds free of legacy duty and unto my brother God- 
frey Bellingham or if he should die before the oc- 
currence of my death unto his daughter Ruth Belling- 
ham the residue of my estate and effects real and per- 
sonal subject to the conditions set forth hereinafter 
namely: 

‘2. That my body shall be deposited with those of 
my ancestors in the churchyard appertaining to the 
church and parish of St. George the Martyr or if 
that shall not be possible in some other churchyard 
cemetery burial ground church or chapel or other 
authorized place for the reception of the bodies of the 
dead situate within or appertaining to the parishes of 
St. Andrew above the Bars and St. George the Martyr 
or St. George Bloomsbury and St. Giles in the Fields. 
But if the conditions in this clause be not carried out 
then 

“3, I give and devise the said residue of my estate 
and effects unto my cousin George Hurst aforesaid and 
I hereby revoke all wills and codicils made by me at 
any time heretofore and I appoint Arthur Jellicoe afore- 
said to be the executor of this my will jointly with the 
principal beneficiary and residuary legatee that is to 
say with the aforesaid Godfrey Bellingham if the con- 
ditions set forth hereinbefore in clause 2 shall be duly 
carried out but with the aforesaid George Hurst if the 
said conditions in the said clause 2 be not carried 
out. 

“JOHN BELLINGHAM. 

“Signed by the said testator John Bellingham in the 
presence of us present at the same time who at his re- 
quest and in his presence and in the presence of each 
other have subscribed our names as witnesses. 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 87 


“Frederick Wilton, 16 Medford Road, London, N., 
clerk. 

‘James Barber, 32 Wadbury Crescent, London, S.W., 
clerk.” 


“Well,” said Jervis, laying down the document as 
Thorndyke detached the last sheet from his writing-pad, 
“I have met with a good many idotic wills, but this 
one can give them all points. I don’t see how it is ever 
going to be administered. One of the two executors is 
a mere abstraction—a sort of algebraical problem with 
no answer.” 

“T think that difficulty could be overcome,” said 
Thorndyke. 

“TI don’t see how,” retorted Jervis. “If the body 
is deposited in a certain place, A is executor; if it is 
somewhere else, B is the executor. But as you cannot 
produce the body, and no one has the least idea where it 
is, it is impossible to prove either that it is or that it is 
not in any specified place.” 

“You are magnifying the difficulty, Jervis,” said 
Thorndyke. ‘“The body may, of course, be anywhere 
in the entire world, but the place where it is lying is 
either inside or outside the general boundary of those 
two parishes. If it has been deposited within the boun- 
dary of those two parishes, the fact must be ascertain- 
able by examining the burial certificates issued since the 
date when the missing man was last seen alive and by 
consulting the registers of those specified places of bur- 
ial. I think that if no record can be found of any such 
interment within the boundary of those two parishes, 
that fact will be taken by the Court as proof that no 
such interment has taken place, and that therefore the 
body must have been deposited somewhere else. Such 


88 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


a decision would constitute George Hurst the co- 
executor and residuary legatee.” 

“That is cheerful for your friends, Berkeley,” Jervis 
remarked, “‘ for we may take it as pretty certain that 
the body has not been deposited in any of the places 
named.” 

“Yes,” I agreed gloomily, “I’m afraid there is very 
little doubt of that. But what an ass that fellow must 
have been to make such a to-do about his beastly car- 
cass! What the deuce could it have mattered to him 
where it was dumped, when he had done with it?” 

Thorndyke chuckled softly. “Thus the irreverent 
youth of to-day,” said he. ‘But yours is hardly a fair 
comment, Berkeley. Our training makes us material- 
ists, and puts us a little out of sympathy with those in 
whom primitive beliefs and emotions survive. A 
worthy priest who came to look at our dissecting-room 
expressed surprise to me that the students, thus con- 
stantly in the presence of relics of mortality, should be 
able to think of anything but the resurrection and the 
life hereafter. He was a bad psychologist. There is 
nothing so dead as a dissecting-room ‘subject’; and the 
contemplation of the human body in the process of 
being quietly taken to pieces—being resolved into its 
structural units like a worn-out clock or an old engine 
in the scrapper’s yard—is certainly not conducive to a 
vivid realization of the doctrine of the resurrection.” 

“No; but this absurd anxiety to be buried in-some 
particular place has nothing to do with religious belief; 
it is merely silly sentiment.” 

“It is sentiment, I admit,” said Thorndyke, “but I 
wouldn’t call it silly. The feeling is so widespread in 
time and space that we must look on it with respect as 
something inherent in human nature. Think—as 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 89 


doubtless John Bellingham did—of the ancient Egyp- 
tians, whose chief aspiration was that of everlasting re- 
pose for the dead. See the trouble they took to achieve 
it. Think of the great Pyramid, or that of Amenhotep 
the Fourth with its labyrinth of false passages and its 
sealed and hidden sepulchral chambers. Think of 
Jacob, borne after death all those hundreds of weary 
miles in order that he might sleep with his fathers and 
then remember Shakespeare and his solemn adjuration 
to posterity to let him rest undisturbed in his grave. 
No, Berkeley, it is not a silly sentiment. I am as in- 
different as you as to what becomes of my body ‘when 
I have done with it,’ to use your irreverent phrase; 
but I recognize the solicitude that some other men dis- 
play on the subject as a natural feeling that has to be 
taken seriously.” 

“But even so,” I said, “if this man had a hankering 
for a freehold residence in some particular bone-yard, 
he might have gone about the business in a more rea- 
sonable way.” 

“There I am entirely with you,” Thorndyke replied. 
“It is the absurd way in which this provision is worded 
that not only creates all the trouble but also makes 
the whole document so curiously significant in view of 
the testator’s disappearance.” 

“How significant?” Jervis demanded eagerly. 

“Tet us consider the provisions of the will point by 
point,” said Thorndyke; ‘and first note that the testa- 
tor commanded the services of a very capable lawyer.” 

“But Mr. Jellicoe disapproved of the will,” said I; 
“in fact, he protested strongly against the form of it.” 

“We will bear that in mind too,” Thorndyke replied. 
“And now with reference to what we may call the con- 
tentious clauses: the first thing that strikes us is their 


go THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


preposterous injustice. Godfrey’s inheritance is made 
conditional on a particular disposal of the testator’s 
body. But this is a matter not necessarily under God- 
frey’s control. The testator might have been lost at 
sea, or killed in a fire or explosion, or have died abroad 
and been buried where his grave could not have been 
identified. There are numerous probable contingencies 
besides the improbable one that has happened that 
might prevent the body from being recovered. 

“‘But even if the body had been recovered, there is 
another difficulty. The places of burial in the parishes 
have all been closed for many years. It would be im- 
possible to reopen any of them without a special faculty, 
and I doubt whether such a faculty would be granted. 
Possibly cremation might meet the difficulty, but even 
that is doubtful; and, in any case, the matter would 
not be in the control of Godfrey Bellingham. Yet, 
if the required interment should prove impossible, he 
is to be deprived of his legacy.” 

“Tt is a monstrous and absurd injustice,” I exclaimed. 

“It is,” Thorndyke agreed; “‘but this is nothing to the 
absurdity that comes to light when we consider clauses 
two and three in detail. Observe that the testator pre- 
sumably wished to be buried in a certain place; also he 
wished his brother should benefit under the will. Let 
us take the first point and see how he has set about, 
securing the accomplishment of what he desired. Now 
if we read clauses two and three carefully, we shall see 
that he has rendered it virtually impossible that his 
wishes can be carried out. He desires to be buried in 
a certain place and makes Godfrey responsible for his 
being so buried. But he gives Godfrey no power or 
authority to carry out the provision, and places in- 
superable obstacles in his way. For until Godfrey is 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL QI 


an executor, he has no power or authority to carry out 
the provision; and until the provisions are carried out, 
he does not become an executor.” 

“It is a preposterous muddle,” exclaimed Jervis. 

“Yes, but that is not the worst of it,” Thorndyke 
continued. “The moment John Bellingham dies, his 
dead body has come into existence; and it is ‘deposited,’ 
for the time being, wherever he happens to have died. 
But unless he should happen to have died in one of 
the places of burial mentioned—which is in the highest 
degree unlikely—his body will be, for the time being, 
‘deposited’ in some place other than those specified. In 
that case clause two is—for the time being—not com- 
plied with, and consequently George Hurst becomes, 
automatically, the co-executor. 

“But will George Hurst carry out the provisions of 
clause two? Probably not. Why should he? The will 
contains no instructions to that effect. It throws the 
whole duty on Godfrey. On the other hand, if he 
should carry out clause two, what happens? He ceases 
to be an executor and he loses some seventy thousand 
pounds. We may be pretty certain that he will do 
nothing of the kind. So that, on considering the two 
clauses, we see that the wishes of the testator could 
only be carried out in the unlikely event of his dying 
in one of the burial-places mentioned, or his body being 
conveyed immediately after death to a public mortuary 
in one of the said parishes. In any other event, it is 
virtually certain that he will be buried in some place 
other than that which he desired, and that his brother 
will be left absolutely without provision or recogni- 
tion.” 

“John Bellingham could never have intended that,” I 
said. 


92 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Clearly not,” agreed Thorndyke; “the provisions 
of the will furnish internal evidence that he did not. 
You note that he bequeathed five thousand pounds to 
George Hurst, in the event of clause two being carried 
out; but he has made no bequest to his brother in the 
event of its not being carried out. Obviously, he had 
not entertained the possibility of this contingency at 
all. He assumed, as a matter of course, that the con- 
ditions of clause two would be fulfilled, and regarded 
the conditions themselves as a mere formality.” 

“But,” Jervis objected, ‘Jellicoe must have seen the 
danger of a miscarriage and pointed it out to his client.” 

“Exactly,” said Thorndyke. ‘There is the mystery. 
We understand that he objected strenuously, and that 
John Bellingham was obdurate. Now it is perfectly 
understandable that a man should adhere obstinately 
to the most stupid and perverse disposition of his prop- 
erty; but that a man should persist in retaining a par- 
ticular form of words after it has been proved to him 
that the use of such form will almost certainly result 
in the defeat of his own wishes; that, I say, is a mystery 
that calls for very careful consideration.” 

“Tf Jellicoe had been an interested party,” said Jer- 
vis, ‘one would have suspected him of lying low. But 
the form of clause two doesn’t affect him at all.” 

“No,” said Thorndyke; “the person who stands to 
profit by the muddle is George Hurst. But we under- 
stand that he was unacquainted with the terms of the 
will, and there is certainly nothing to suggest that he 
is in any way responsible for it.” 

“The practical question is,” said I, “what is going 
to happen? and what can be done for the Belling- 
hams?” 

“The probability is,” Thorndyke replied, ‘that the 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 93 


next move will be made by Hurst. He is the party 
immediately interested. He will probably apply to the 
Court for permission to presume death and administer 
the will.” 

“And what will the Court do?” 

Thorndyke smiled dryly. ‘Now you are asking a 
very pretty conundrum. The decisions of Courts de- 
pend on idiosyncrasies of temperament that no one can 
foresee. But one may say that a Court does not lightly 
grant permission to presume death. There will be a 
rigorous inquiry—and a decidedly unpleasant one, I 
suspect—and the evidence will be reviewed by the 
judge with a strong predisposition to regard the testa- 
tor as being still alive. On the other hand, the known 
facts point very distinctly to the probability that he is 
dead; and, if the will were less complicated and all the 
parties interested were unanimous in supporting the 
application, I don’t see why it might not be granted. 
But it will clearly be to the interest of Godfrey to 
oppose the application, unless he can show that the con- 
ditions of clause two have been complied with—which 
it is virtually certain he cannot; and he may be able to 
bring forward reasons for believing John to be still 
alive. But even if he is unable to do this, inasmuch as 
it is pretty clear that he was intended to be the chief 
beneficiary, his opposition is likely to have considerable 
weight with the Court.” 

“Oh, is it?” I exclaimed eagerly. “Then that ac- 
counts for a very peculiar proceeding on the part of 
Hurst. I have stupidly forgotten to tell you about it. 
He has been trying to come to a private agreement 
with Godfrey Bellingham.” 

“Indeed!”’ said Thorndyke. “What sort of agree- 
ment?” 


94 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“His proposal was this: that Godfrey should sup- 
port him and Jellicoe in an application to the Court 
for permission to presume death and to administer the 
will, that if it was successful, Hurst should pay him 
four hundred pounds a year for life: the arrangement 
to hold good in all eventualities.” 

“By which he means?” 

“That if the body should be discovered at any future 
time, so that the conditions of clause two could be car- 
ried out, Hurst should still retain the property and con- 
tinue to pay Godfrey the four hundred a year for life.” 

“Hey, ho!” exclaimed Thorndyke; “that is a queer 
proposal; a very queer proposal indeed.” 

“Not to say fishy,” added Jervis. “TI don’t fancy the 
Court would look with approval on that little arrange- 
ment.” 

“The Jaw does not look with much favor on any 
little arrangements that aim at getting behind the pro- 
visions of a will,’ Thorndyke replied; “though there 
would be nothing to complain of in this proposal if 
it were not for the reference to ‘all eventualities.’ If 
a will is hopelessly impracticable, it is not unreason- 
able or improper for the various beneficiaries to make 
such private arrangements among themselves as may 
seem necessary to avoid useless litigation and delay 
in administering the will. If, for instance, Hurst had 
proposed to pay four hundred a year to Godfrey so 
long as the body remained undiscovered on condition 
that, in the event of its discovery, Godfrey should 
pay him a like sum for life, there would have been 
nothing to comment upon. It would have been an 
ordinary sporting chance. But the reference to ‘all 
eventualities’ is an entirely different matter. Of course, 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 95 


it may be mere greediness, but all the same it sug- 
gests some very curious reflections.” 

“Yes, it does,” said Jervis. ‘I wonder if he has any 
reason to expect that the body will be found? Of 
course it doesn’t follow that he has. He may be 
merely taking the opportunity offered by the other 
man’s poverty to make sure of the bulk of the prop- 
erty whatever happens. But it is uncommonly sharp 
practice, to say the least.” 

“Do I understand that Godfrey declined the pro- 
posal?” Thorndyke asked. 

“Yes, he did, very emphatically; and I fancy the 
two gentlemen proceeded to exchange opinions on 
the circumstances of the disappearance with more 
frankness than delicacy.” 

“Ah,” said Thorndyke, “that is a pity. If the case 
comes into Court, there is bound to be a good deal of 
unpleasant discussion and still more unpleasant com- 
ment in the newspapers. But if the parties themselves 
begin to express suspicions of one another there is no 
telling where the matter will end.” 

“No, by Jove!” said Jervis. “If they begin flinging 
accusations of murder about, the fat will be in the 
fire with a vengeance. That way lies the Old Bailey.” 

“We must try to prevent them from making an un- 
necessary scandal,” said Thorndyke. “It may be that 
an exposure will be unavoidable, and that must be 
ascertained in advance. But to return to your ques- 
tion, Berkeley, as to what is to be done. Hurst will 
probably make some move pretty soon. Do you know 
if Jellicoe will act with him?” 

“No, he won’t. He declines to take any steps with- 
out Godfrey’s assent—at least, that is what he says 
at present. His attitude is one of correct neutrality.” 


96 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“That is satisfactory so far,” said Thorndyke, 
“though he may alter his tone when the case comes 
into Court. From what you said just now I gathered 
that Jellicoe would prefer to have the will administered 
and be quit of the whole business; which is natural 
enough, especially as he benefits under the will to the 
extent of two thousand pounds and a valuable col- 
lection. Consequently, we may fairly assume that, 
even if he maintains an apparent neutrality, his in- 
fluence will be exerted in favor of Hurst rather than 
of Bellingham; from which it follows that Bellingham 
ought certainly to be properly advised, and, when the 
case goes into Court, properly represented.” 

“He can’t afford either the one or the other,” said I. 
“He’s aS poor as an insolvent church mouse and as 
proud as the devil. He wouldn’t accept professional 
aid that he couldn’t pay for.” 

“F’m,” grunted Thorndyke, “that’s awkward. But 
we can’t allow the case to go ‘by default,’ so to speak— 
to fail for the mere lack of technical assistance. Be- 
sides, it is one of the most interesting cases that I 
have ever met with, and I am not going to see it bun- 
gled. He couldn’t object to a little general advice in 
a friendly, informal way—amicus curie, as old Brod- 
ribb is so fond of saying; and there is nothing to pre- 
vent us from pushing forward the preliminary in- 
quiries.”’ 

“Of what nature would they be?” 

- “Well, to begin with, we have to satisfy ourselvcs 
that the conditions of clause two have not been com- 
plied with: that John Bellingham has not been buried 
within the parish boundaries mentioned. Of course he 
has not, but we must not take anything for granted. 
Then we have to satisfy ourselves that he is not still 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 97 


alive and accessible. It is perfectly possible that he 
is, after all, and it is our business to trace him, if 
he is still in the land of the living. Jervis and I can 
carry out these investigations without saying anything 
to Bellingham; my learned brother will look through 
the register of burials—not forgetting the cremations 
—in the metropolitan area, and I will take the other 
matter in hand.” 

“You really think that John Bellingham may still 
be alive?” said I. 

“Since his body has not been found, it is obviously a 
possibility. I think it in the highest degree improb- 
able, but the improbable has to be investigated before 
it can be excluded.” 

“Tt sounds a rather hopeless quest,” I remarked. 
“How do you propose to begin?” 

“I think of beginning at the British Museum. The 
people there may be able to throw some light on his 
movements. I know that there are some important 
excavations in progress at Heliopolis—in fact, the 
Director of the Egyptian Department is out there at 
the present moment; and Doctor Norbury, who is 
taking his place temporarily, is an old friend of Bel- 
lingham’s. I shall call on him and try to discover if 
there is anything that might have induced Bellingham 
suddenly to go abroad to Heliopolis, for instance. Also 
he may be able to tell me what it was that took the 
missing man to Paris on that last, rather mysterious 
journey. That might turn out to be an important 
clue. And meanwhile, Berkeley, you must endeavor 
tactfully to reconcile your friend to the idea of letting 
us give an eye to the case. Make it clear to him that 
I am doing this entirely for the enlargement of my 
own knowledge.” 


98 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“But won’t you have to be instructed by a solicitor?” 
I asked. 
“Yes, nominally; but only as a matter of etiquette. 
We shall do all the actual work. Why do you ask?” 
“T was thinking of the solicitor’s costs, and I was 
going to mention that I have a little money of my own 
99 . 





“Then you keep it, my dear fellow. You'll want it 
when you go into practice. There will be no difficulty 
about the solicitor; I shall ask one of my friends to 
act nominally as a personal favor to me—Marchmont 
would take the case for us, Jervis, I am sure.” 

“Ves,” said Jervis. ‘Or old Brodribb, if we put it 
to him amicus curie.” 

“Tt is excessively kind of both of you to take this 
benevolent interest in the case of my friends,” I said; 
“and it is to be hoped that they won’t be foolishly proud 
and stiff-necked about it. It’s rather the way with poor 
gentlefolk.” 

“Yl tell you what!” exclaimed Jervis. “I have a 
most brilliant idea. You shall give us a little supper 
at your rooms and invite the Bellinghams to meet us. 
Then you and [ will attack the old gentleman, and 
Thorndyke shall exercise his persuasive powers on the 
lady. These chronic incurable old bachelors, you know, 
are quite irresistible.” 

‘“‘You observe that my respected junior condemns 
me to lifelong celibacy,” Thorndyke remarked, “But,” 
he added, “his suggestion is quite a good one. Of 
course, we mustn’t put any sort of pressure on Belling- 
ham to employ us—for that is what it amounts to, even 
if we accept no payment—but a friendly talk over the 
supper-table would enable us to put the matter deli- 
cately and yet convincingly.” 


JOHN BELLINGHAM’S WILL 99 


“Yes,” said I, “I see that, and I like the idea im- 
mensely. But it won’t be possible for several days, be- 
cause I’ve got a job that takes up all my spare time— 
and that I ought to be at work on now,” I added, with a 
sudden qualm at the way in which I had forgotten the 
passage of time in the interest of Thorndyke’s analysis. 

My two friends looked at me inquiringly, and I felt 
it necessary to explain about the injured hand and the 
Tell-el-Amarna tablets; which I accordingly did rather 
shyly and with a nervous eye upon Jervis. The slow 
grin, however, for which I was watching, never came; 
on the contrary, he not only heard me through quite 
gravely, but when I had finished said with some 
warmth, and using my old hospital pet name: 

“T’ll say one thing for you, Polly; you’re a good 
chum, and you always were. I hope your Nevill’s 
Court friends appreciate the fact.” 

“They are far more appreciative than the occasion 
warrants,” I answered. “But to return to this ques- 
tion: how will this day week suit you?” 

“Tt will suit me,” ‘Thorndyke answered, with a glance 
at his junior, 

“And me too,” said the latter; “so, if it will do for 
the Bellinghams, we will consider it settled; but if 
they can’t come, you must fix another night.” 

“Very well,” I said, rising and knocking out my pipe. 
“T will issue the invitation to-morrow. And now I 
must be off to have another slog at those notes.” 

As I walked homeward I speculated cheerfully on 
the prospect of entertaining my friends under my own 
(or rather Barnard’s) roof, if they could be lured out 
of their eremitical retirement. The idea had, in fact, 
occurred to me already, but I had been deterred by the 
peculiarities of Barnard’s housekeeper. For Mrs. 


100 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Gummer was one of those housewives who make up for 
an archaic simplicity of production by preparations om 
the most portentous and alarming scale. But this time 
I would not be deterred. If only the guests could be 
enticed into my humble lair it would be easy to furnish 
the raw materials of the feast from outside; and the 
consideration of ways and means occupied me pleas- 
antly until I found myself once more at my writing- 
table, confronted by my voluminous notes on the in- 
cidents of the North Syrian War. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A MUSEUM IDYLL 


WHETHER it was that practise revived a forgotten 
skill on my part, or that Miss Bellingham had over- 
estimated the amount of work to be done, I am unable 
to say. But whichever may have been the explana- 
tion, the fact is that the fourth afternoon saw our task 
so nearly completed that I was fain to plead that a 
small remainder might be left over to form an excuse 
for yet one more visit to the reading-room. 

Short, however, as had been the period of our col- 
laboration, it had been long enough to produce a great 
change in our relations to one another. For there is 
no friendship so intimate and satisfying as that en- 
gendered by community of work, and none—between 
man and woman, at any rate—so frank and whole- 
some. 

Every day had arrived to find a pile of books with 
the places duly marked and the blue-covered quarto 
notebooks in readiness. Every day we had worked 
steadily at the allotted task, had then handed in the 
books and gone forth together to enjoy a most com- 
panionable tea in the milkshop; thereafter to walk 
home by way of Queen Square, talking over the day’s 
work and discussing the state of the world in the far- 
off days when Ahkhenaten was kind and the Tell-el- 
_ Amarna tablets were.a-writing. 

It had been a pleasant time, so pleasant, that as I 
IOI 


102 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


handed in the books for the last time, I sighed to think 
that it was over; that not only was the task finished, 
but that the recovery of my fair patient’s hand, from 
which I had that morning removed the splint, had 
put an end to the need of my help. 

“What shall we do?” I asked, as we came out into 
the central hall. “It is too early for tea. Shall we go 
and look at some of the galleries?” 

“Why not?” she answered. ‘We might look over 
some of the things connected with what we have been 
doing. For instance, there is a relief of Ahkhenaten 
upstairs in the Third Egyptian Room; we might go 
and look at it.” 

I fell in eagerly with the suggestion, placing myself 
under her experienced guidance, and we started by way 
of the Roman Gallery, past the long row of extremely 
commonplace and modern-looking Roman Emperors. 

“T don’t know,” she said, pausing for a moment op- 
posite a bust labelled “Trajan” (but obviously a por- 
trait of Phil May), “how I am ever even to thank you 
for all that you have done, to say nothing of repay- 
ment.” 

“There is no need to do either,” I replied. “I have 
enjoyed working with you so I have had my reward. 
But still,” I added, “if you want to do me a great 
kindness, you have it in your power.” 

“Howe” 

“Tn connection with my friend, Doctor Thorndyke. I 
told you he was an enthusiast. Now he is, for some 
reason, most keenly interested in everything relating 
to your uncle, and I happen to know that, if any legal 
proceedings should take place, he would very much 
like to keep a friendly eye on the case.” 

“And what do you want me to do?” 


A MUSEUM IDYLL 103 


“IT want you, if an opportunity should occur for 
him to give your father advice or help of any kind, 
to use your influence with your father in favor of, 
rather than in opposition to, his accepting it—always 
assuming that you have no real feeling against his 
doing so.” 

Miss Bellingham looked at me thoughtfully for a few 
moments, and then laughed softly. 

“So the great kindness that I am to do you is to let 
you do me a further kindness through your friend?” 

“No,” I protested; “that is where you are mistaken. 
It isn’t benevolence on Doctor Thorndyke’s part; it’s 
professional enthusiasm.” 

She smiled sceptically. 

“You don’t believe in it,” I said; “but consider other 
cases. Why does a surgeon get out of bed on a win- 
ter’s night to do an emergency operation at a hospital? 
He doesn’t get paid for it. Do you think it is altru- 
ism?” 

“Yes, of course. Isn’t it?” 

“Certainly not. He does it because it is his job, 
because it is his business to fight with disease—and 
win.” 

“TI don’t see much difference,” she said. “It’s work 
done for love instead of for payment. However, I will 
do as you ask if the opportunity arises; but I shan’t 
suppose that I am repaying your kindness to me.” 

“T don’t mind so long as you do it,” I said, and we 
walked on for some time in silence. 

“Isn’t it odd,” she said presently, “how our talk 
always seems to come back to my uncle? Oh, and that 
reminds me that the things he gave to the Museum 
are in the same room as the Ahkhenaten relief. Would 
you like to see them?” 


104 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Of course I should.” 

“Then we will go and look at them first.” She 
paused, and then, rather shyly and with a rising color, 
she continued: ‘And I think I should like to intro- 
duce you to a very dear friend of mine—with your 
permission, of course.” 

This last addition she made hastily, seeing, I sup- 
pose, that I looked rather glum at the suggestion. In- 
wardly I consigned her friend to the devil, especially 
if of the masculine gender; outwardly I expressed my 
felicity at making the acquaintance of any person 
whom she should honor with her friendship. Whereat, 
to my discomfiture, she laughed enigmatically; a very 
soft laugh, low-pitched and musical, like the cooing of 
a glorified pigeon. 

I strolled on by her side, speculating a little anxiously 
on the coming introduction. Was I being conducted 
to the lair of one of the savants attached to the estab- 
lishment? and would he add a superfluous third to our 
little party of two, so complete and companionable, 
solus cum sola, in this populated wilderness? Above 
all, would he turn out to be a young man, and bring 
my aerial castles tumbling about my ears? ‘The shy 
look and the blush with which she had suggested the 
introduction were ominous indications, upon which I 
mused gloomily as we ascended the stairs and passed 
through the wide doorway. I glanced apprehensively 
at my companion, and met a quiet, inscrutable smile; 
and at that moment she halted opposite a wall-case and 
faced me. 

“This is my friend,” she said. “Let me present you 
to Artemidorus, late of the Fayyum. Oh, don’t smile!” 
she pleaded. “I am quite serious. Have you never 
heard of pious Catholics who cherish a devotion to 


A MUSEUM IDYLL 105 


some long-departed saint? That is my feeling toward 
Artemidorus, and if you only knew what comfort he 
has shed into the heart of a lonely woman; what a 
quiet, unobtrusive friend he has been to me in my 
solitary, friendless days, always ready with a kindly 
greeting on his gentle, thoughtful face, you would like 
him for that alone. And I want you to like him and 
to share our silent friendship. Am I very silly, very 
sentimental?” 

A wave of relief swept over me, and the mercury of 
my emotional thermometer, which had shrunk almost 
into the bulb, leaped up to summer heat. How charm- 
ing it was of her and how sweetly intimate, to wish 
to share this mystical friendship with me! And what 
a pretty conceit it was, too, and how like this strange, 
inscrutable maiden, to come here and hold silent con- 
verse with this long-departed Greek. And the pathos 
of it all touched me deeply amidst the joy of this new- 
born intimacy. 

“Are you scornful?” she asked, with a shade of dis- 
appointment, as I made no reply. 

“No, indeed I am not,” I answered earnestly. “I 
want to make you aware of my sympathy and my ap- 
preciation without offending you by seeming to exag- 
gerate, and I don’t know how to express it.” 

“Oh, never mind about the expression, so long as 
you feel it. I thought you would understand,” and 
she gave me a smile that mdde me tingle to my finger- 
tips. 

We stood awhile gazing in silence at the mummy— 
for such, indeed, was her friend Artemidorus. But not 
an ordinary mummy. Egyptian in form, it was entirely 
Greek in feeling; and brightly colored as it was, in 
accordance with the racial love of color, the tasteful 


106 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


refinement with which the decoration of the case was 
treated made those around look garish and barbaric. 
But the most striking feature was a charming panel 
picture which occupied the place of the usual mask. 
This painting was a revelation to me. Except that it 
was executed in tempera instead of oil, it differed in 
no respect from modern work. There was nothing 
archaic or ancient about it. With its freedom of han- 
dling and its correct rendering of light and shade, it 
might have been painted yesterday; indeed, enclosed 
in an ordinary gilt frame, it might have passed with- 
out remark in an exhibition of modern portraits. 

Miss Bellingham observed my admiration and smiled 
approvingly. 

“Tt is a charming little portrait, isn’t it?” she said; 
‘‘and such a sweet face too; so thoughtful and human, 
with just a shade of melancholy. But the whole thing 
is full of charm. I fell in love with it the first time I 
saw it. And it is so Greek!” 

“Yes, it is, in spite of the Egyptian gods and sym- 
bols.” 

“Rather because of them, I think,” said she. “There 
we have the typical Greek attitude, the genial, culti- 
vated eclecticism that appreciated the fitness of even 
the most alien forms of art. There is Anubis stand- 
ing beside the bier; there are Isis and Nephthys, and 
there below Horus and Tahuti. But we can’t suppose 
Artemidorus worshiped or believed in those gods. 
They are there because they are splendid decoration 
and perfectly appropriate in character. The real feel- | 
ing of those who loved the dead man breaks out in the 
inscription.” She pointed to a band below the pectoral, 
where, in gilt capital letters, was written the two words, 
“APTEMIAQPE ETWVYXI.” 


A MUSEUM IDYLL 107 


“Ves,” I said, “‘it is very dignified and very human.” 

‘And so sincere and full of real emotion,” she added. 
“T find it unspeakably touching. ‘O Artemidorus, 
farewell!’ There is the real note of human grief, the 
sorrow of eternal parting. How much finer it is than 
the vulgar boastfulness of the Semitic epitaphs, or our 
own miserable, insincere make-believe of the ‘Not lost 
but gone before’ type. He was gone from them for 
ever; they would look on his face and hear his voice 
no more; they realized that this was their last farewell. © 
Oh, there is a world of love and sorrow in those two 
simple words!” 

For some time neither of us spoke. The glamour of 
this touching memorial of a long-buried grief had sto- 
len over me, and I was content to stand silent by my 
beloved companion and revive, with a certain pensive 
pleasure, the ghosts of human emotions over which so 
many centuries had rolled. Presently she turned to 
me with a frank smile. “You have been weighed in 
the balance of friendship,” she said, “and not found 
wanting. You have the gift of sympathy, even with a 
woman’s sentimental fancies.” 

I suspected that a good many men would have de- 
veloped this precious quality under the circumstances, 
but I refrained from saying so. There is no use in 
crying down one’s own wares. I was glad enough to 
have earned her good opinion so easily, and when she 
at length turned away from the case and passed 
through into the adjoining room, it was a very com- 
placent young man who bore her company. 

“Here is Ahkhenaten—or Khu-en-aten, as the au- 
thorities here render the hieroglyphics. She indi- 
cated a fragment of a colored relief labeled: ‘Portion 
of a painted stone tablet with a portrait figure of 


108 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Amen-hotep IV,” and we stopped to look at the frail, 
effeminate figure of the great king, with his large 
cranium, his queer, pointed chin, and the Aten rays 
stretching out their weird hands as if caressing him. 

‘“‘We mustn’t stay here if you want to see my uncle’s 
gift, because this room closes at four to-day.” With 
this admonition she moved on to the other end of the 
room, where she halted before a large floor-case con- 
taining a mummy and a large number of other objects. 
A black label with white lettering set forth the vari- 
ous contents with a brief explanation as follows: 


“Mummy of Sebek-hotep, a scribe of the twenty- 
second dynasty, together with the objects found in 
the tomb. These include the four Canopic jars, in 
which the internal organs were deposited, the Ushabti 
figures, tomb provisions and various articles that 
had belonged to the deceased; his favorite chair, his 
head-rest, his ink-palette, inscribed with his name 
and the name of the king, Osorkon I, in whose reign 
he lived, and other smaller articles. Presented by 
John Bellingham, Esq.” 


“They have put all the objects together in one case,” 
Miss Bellingham explained, “to show the contents of 
an ordinary tomb of the better class. You see that 
the dead man was provided with all his ordinary com- 
forts; provisions, furniture, the ink-palette that he had 
been accustomed to use in writing on papyri, and a 
staff of servants to wait on him.” 

“Where are the servants?” I asked. 

“The little Ushabti figures,” she answered; “they 
were the attendants of the dead, you know, his servants 
in the under-world. It was a quaint idea, wasn’t it? 


A MUSEUM IDYLL 109 


But it was all very complete and consistent, and quite 
reasonable, too, if one once accepts the belief in the per- 
sistence of the individual apart from the body.” 

“Yes,” I agreed, “and that,is the only fair way to 
judge a religious system, by taking the main beliefs for 
granted. But what a business it must have been, 
bringing all these things from Egypt to London.” 

“Tt is worth the trouble, though, for it is a fine and 
instructive collection. And the work is all very good 
of its kind. You notice that the Ushabti figures and 
the heads that form the stoppers of the Canopic jars 
are quite finely modeled. The mummy itself, too, is 
rather handsome, though that coat of bitumen on the 
back doesn’t improve it. But Sebek-hotep must have . 
been a fine-looking man.” 

“The mask on the face is a portrait, I suppose?” 

“Yes; in fact, it’s rather more. To some extent it is 
the actual face of the man himself. This mummy is en- 
closed in what is called a cartonnage, that is a case 
molded on the figure. The cartonnage was formed 
of a number of layers of linen or papyrus united by 
glue or cement, and when the case had been fitted to a 
mummy it was molded to the body, so that the general 
form of the features and limbs was often apparent. 
After the cement was dry the case was covered with a 
thin layer of stucco and the face modeled more com- 
pletely, and then decorations and inscriptions were 
painted on. So that, you see, in a cartonnage, the body 
was sealed up like a nut in its shell, unlike the more 
ancient forms in which the mummy was merely rolled 
up and enclosed in a wooden coffin.” 

At this moment there smote upon our ears a politely 
protesting voice announcing in sing-song tones that it 
was closing time; and simultaneously a desire for tea 


IIO THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


suggested the hospitable milk-shop. With leisurely 
dignity that ignored the official who shepherded us 
along the galleries, we made our way to the entrance, 
still immersed in conversation on matters sepulchral. 

It was rather earlier than our usual hour for leaving 
the Museum and, moreover, it was our last day—for 
the present. Wherefore we lingered over our tea to an 
extent that caused the milk-shop lady to view us with 
some disfavor, and when at length we started home- 
ward, we took so many short cuts that six o’clock found 
us no nearer our destination than Lincoln’s Inn Fields; 
whither we had journeyed by a slightly indirect route 
that traversed (among other places) Russell Square, 
Red Lion Square, with the quaint passage of the same 
name, Bedford Row, Jockey’s Fields, Hand Court, and 
Great Turnstile. 

It was in the last thoroughfare that our attention 
was attracted by a flaring poster outside a newsven- 
dor’s bearing the startling inscription: 


“MORE MEMENTOES 
OF MURDERED MAN.” 


Miss Bellingham glanced at the poster and shud- 
dered. 

“Horrible, isn’t it?” she said. ‘Have you read about 
them?” 

“T haven’t been noticing the papers the last few 
days,” I replied. 

“No, of course you haven’t. You’ve been slaving at 
those wretched notes. We don’t very often see the 
papers, at least we don’t take them in, but Miss Oman 
has kept us supplied during the last day or two. She 


A MUSEUM IDYLL III 


is a perfect little ghoul; she delights in horrors of 
every kind, and the more horrible the better.” 

“But,” I asked, “what is it they have found?” 

“Oh, they are the remains of some poor creature who 
seems to have been murdered and cut into pieces. It is 
dreadful. It made me shudder to read of it, for I 
couldn’t help thinking of poor Uncle John, and, as for 
my father, he was really quite upset.” 

‘‘Are these the bones that were found in a watercress- 
bed at Sidcup?” 

“Yes, but they have found several more. The police 
have been most energetic. They seem to have been 
making a systematic search, and the result has been 
that they have discovered several portions of the body, 
scattered about in very widely separated places—Sid- 
cup, Lee, St. Mary Cray; and yesterday it was re- 
ported that an arm had been found in one of the ponds 
called ‘the Cuckoo Pits,’ close to our old home.” 

“What! in Essex?” I exclaimed. 

“Yes, in Epping Forest, quite near Woodford. Isn’t 
it dreadful to think of it? They were probably hidden 
when we were living there. I think it was that that 
horrified my father so much. When he read it he was 
so upset that he gathered up the whole bundle of news- 
papers and tossed them out of the window; and they 
blew over the wall, and poor Miss Oman had to rush 
and pursue them up the court.” 

“Do you think he suspects that these remains may 
be those of your uncle?” 

“T think so, though he has said nothing to that effect 
and, of course, I have not made any suggestion to 
him. We always preserve the fiction between ourselves 
of believing that Uncle John is still alive.” 

“But you don’t think he is, do you?” 


I12 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“No, I’m afraid I don’t; and I feel pretty sure that 
my father doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t like 
to admit it to me.” 

“Do you happen to remember what bones have been 
found?” 

“No, I don’t. I know that an arm was found in the 
Cuckoo Pits, and I think a thigh-bone was dredged up 
out of a pond near St. Mary Cray. But Miss Oman 
will be able to tell you all about it, if you are inter- 
ested. She will be delighted to meet a kindred spirit,” 
Miss Bellingham added, with a smile. 

“JT don’t know that I claim spiritual kinship with a 
ghoul,” said I; “especially such a very sharp-tempered 
ghoul.” 

“Oh, don’t disparage her, Doctor Berkeley!” Miss 
Bellingham pleaded. ‘She isn’t really bad-tempered; 
only a little prickly on the surface. I oughn’t to have 
called her a ghoul; she is just the sweetest, most affec- © 
tionate, most unselfish little angelic human hedgehog 
that you could find if you traveled the wide world 
through. Do you know that she has been working her 
fingers to the bone making an old dress of mine present- 
able because she is so anxious that I shall look nice 
at your little supper party.” 

“You are sure to do that, in any case,” I said; “but 
I withdraw my remark as to her temper unreservedly. 
And I really didn’t mean it, you know; I have always 
liked the little lady.” 

“That’s right; and now won’t you come in and have 
a few minutes’ chat with my father? We are quite 
early in spite of the short cuts.” 

I accepted readily, and the more so inasmuch as I 
wanted a few words with Miss Oman on the subject of 
catering and did not want to discuss it before my 


A MUSEUM IDYLL 113 


friends. Accordingly I went in and gossiped with Mr. 
Bellingham, chiefly about the work we had done at 
the Museum, until it was time for me to return to the 
surgery. 

Having taken my leave, I walked down the stairs 
with reflective slowness and as much creaking of my 
boots as I could manage; with the result, hopefully 
anticipated, that as I approached the door of Miss 
Oman’s room it opened and the lady’s head protruded. 

“Y’d change my cobbler if I were you,” she said. 

I thought of the “angelic human hedgehog,” and 
nearly sniggered in her face. 

“IT am sure you would, Miss Oman, instantly; 
though, mind you, the poor fellow can’t help his looks.” 

“Vou are a very flippant young man,” she said se- 
verely. Whereat I grinned, and she regarded me si- 
lently with a baleful glare. Suddenly I remembered 
my mission and became serious and sober. 

“Miss Oman,” I said. “I very much want to take 
your advice on a matter of some importance—to me, 
at least.” (That ought to fetch her, I thought. The 
‘advice fly”—strangely neglected by Izaak Walton— 
is guaranteed to kill in any weather.) And it did fetch 
her. She rose in a flash and gorged it, cock’s Aes: 
worsted body and all. 

“What is it about?” she asked eagerly. ‘But don’t 
stand out there where everybody can hear but me. 
Come in and sit down.” 

Now I didn’t want to discuss the matter here, and, 
besides, there was not time. I therefore assumed an 
air of mystery. 

“T can’t, Miss Oman. I’m due at the surgery now. 
But if you should be passing and should have a few 


114 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


minutes to spare, I should be greatly obliged if you 
would look in. I really don’t quite know how to act.” 

“No, I expect not. Men very seldom do. But 
you're better than most, for you know when you are 
in difficulties and have the sense to consult a woman. 
But what is it about? Perhaps I might be thinking 
it over.” 

“Well, you know,” I began evasively, “it’s a simple 
matter, but I can’t very well—no, by Jove!” I added, 
looking at my watch, “I must run, or I shall keep the 
multitude waiting.” And with this I bustled away, 
leaving her literally dancing with curiosity. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN 


At the age of twenty-six one cannot claim to have 
attained to the position of a person of experience. 
Nevertheless, the knowledge of human nature accu- 
mulated in that brief period sufficed to make me feel 
confident that, at some time during the evening, I 
should receive a visit from Miss Oman. And circum- 
stances justified my confidence; for the clock yet stood 
at two minutes to seven when a premonitory tap at 
the surgery door heralded her arrival. 

“YT happened to be passing,” she explained, and I 
forbore to smile at the coincidence, ‘“‘so I thought I 
might as well drop in and hear what you wanted to 
ask me about.” 

She seated herself in the patients’ chair and laying a 
bundle of newspapers on the table, glared at me ex- 
pectantly. | 

“Thank you, Miss Oman,” said I. “It is very good 
of you to look in on me. I am ashamed to give you 
all this trouble about such a trifling matter.” 

She rapped her knuckles impatiently on the table. 

“Never mind about the trouble,” she exclaimed tart- 
ly. ‘“What—is—it—that—you—want—to—ask—me 
about?” 

I stated my difficulties in respect of the supper-party, 
and, as I proceeded, an expression of disgust and dis- 
appointment spread over her countenance. 

115 


116 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T don’t see why you need have been so mysterious 
about it,” she said glumly. 

“T didn’t mean to be mysterious; I was only anxious 
not to make a mess of the affair. It’s all very fine 
to assume a lofty scorn of the pleasures of the table, 
but there is great virtue in a really good feed, espe- 
cially when low-living and high-thinking have been the 
order of the day.” 

“Coarsely put,” said Miss Oman, “but perfectly 
true.” 

“Very well. Now, if I leave the management to 
‘Mrs. Gummer, she will probably provide a tepid Irish 
stew with flakes of congealed fat on it, and a plastic 
suet-pudding or something of that kind, and turn the 
house upside down in getting it ready. So I thought 
of having a cold spread and getting the things from 
outside. But I don’t want it to look as if I had been 
making enormous preparations.” 

“They won’t think the things came down from 
heaven,” said Miss Oman. 

“No, I suppose they won’t. But you know what I 
mean. Now, where do you advise me to go for the 
raw materials of conviviality?” 

Miss Oman reflected. ‘You had better let me do 
your shopping and manage the whole business,” was 
her final verdict. 

This was precisely what I wanted, and I accepted 
thankfully, regardless of the feelings of Mrs. Gummer. 
I handed her two pounds, and, after some protests at 
my extravagance, she bestowed them in her purse; a 
process that occupied time, since that receptacle, be- 
sides being a sort of miniature Record Office of frayed 
and time-stained bills, already bulged with a lading 
of draper’s samples, ends of tape, a card of linen but- 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN 117 


tons, another of hooks and eyes, a lump of beeswax, a 
rat-eaten stump of leadpencil, and other trifles that I 
have forgotten. As she closed the purse at the im- 
minent risk of wrenching off its fastenings she looked 
at me severely and pursed her lips. 

““You’re a very plausible young man,” she remarked. 

“What makes you say that?” I asked. 

“Philandering about museums,” she continued, “with 
handsome young ladies on the pretense of work. 
Work, indeed! Oh, I heard her telling her father 
about it. She thinks you were perfectly enthralled by 
the mummies and dried cats and chunks of stone and 
all the other trash. She doesn’t know what humbugs 
men are.” 

“Really, Miss Oman,” I began. 

“Oh, don’t talk to me!” she snapped. “I can see it 
all. You can’t impose upon me. I can see you staring 
into those glass cases, egging her on to talk and listen- 
ing open-mouthed and bulging-eyed and sitting at her 
feet—now, didn’t you?” 

“T don’t know about sitting at her feet,” I said, 
“though it might easily have come to that with those 
infernal slippery floors; but I had a very jolly time, 
and I mean to go again if I can. Miss Bellingham is 
the cleverest and most accomplished woman I have 
ever spoken to.” 

This was a poser for Miss Oman, whose admiration 
and loyalty, I knew, were only equaled by my own. 
She would have liked to contradict me, but the thing 
was impossible. To cover her defeat she snatched up 
the bundle of newspapers and began to open them out. 

“What sort of stuff is ‘hibernation’?” she demanded 
suddenly. 

“Hibernation!” I exclaimed. 


118 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Yes. They found a patch of it on a bone that was 
discovered in a pond at St. Mary Cray, and a similar 
patch on one that was found at some other place in 
Essex. Now, I want to know what ‘hibernation’ is.” 

“You must mean ‘eburnation,’ ” I said, after a mo- 
ment’s reflection. 

“The newspapers say ‘hibernation,’ and I suppose 
they know what they are talking about. If you don’t 
know what it is, don’t be ashamed to say so.” 

“Well, then, I don’t.” 

“Tn that case you had better read the papers and find 
out,”’ she said, a little illogically. And then: ‘Are 
you fond of murders? I am, awfully.” 

“What a shocking little ghoul you must be!” I ex- 
claimed. 

She stuck out her chin at me. “T’ll trouble you,” she 
said, ‘‘to be a little more respectful in your language. 
Do you realize that I am old enough to be your 
mother ?”’ 

“Tmpossible!”’ I ejaculated. 

“Fact,” said Miss Oman. 

“Well, anyhow,” said I, ‘‘age is not the only qualifi- 
cation. And besides, you are too late for the billet. 
The vacancy’s filled.” 

Miss Oman slapped the papers down on the table 
and rose abruptly. 

“You had better read the papers and see if you can 
learn a little sense,” she said severely as she turned to 
go. “Oh, and don’t forget the finger!” she added 
eagerly. “That is really thrilling.” 

“The finger?” I repeated. 

“Yes. They found a hand with one missing. The 
police think it is an important clue. I don’t know 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN _ 119 


what they mean; but you read the account and tell me 
what you think.” 

With this parting injunction she bustled out through 
the surgery, and I followed to bid her a ceremonious 
adieu on the doorstep. I watched her little figure trip- 
ping with quick, bird-like steps down Fetter Lane, and 
was about to turn back into the surgery when my 
attention was attracted by the evolutions of an elderly 
gentleman on the opposite side of the street. He was 
a somewhat peculiar-looking man, tall, gaunt, and 
bony, and the way in which he carried his head sug- 
gested to the medical mind a pronounced degree of 
near sight and a pair of “deep” spectacle glasses. Sud- 
denly he espied me and crossed the road with his chin 
thrust forward and a pair of keen blue eyes directed 
at me through the centers of his spectacles. 

“T wonder if you can and will help me,” said he, 
with a courteous salute. “I wish to call on an ac- 
quaintance, and I have forgotten his address. It is 
in some court, but the name of that court has escaped 
me for the moment. My friend’s name is Bellingham. 
I suppose you don’t chance to know it? Doctors know 
a great many people, as a rule.” 

“Do you mean Mr. Godfrey Bellingham?” 

“Ah! Then you do know him. I have not consulted 
the oracle in vain. He is a patient of yours, no doubt?” 

“A patient and a personal friend. His address is 
Forty-nine Nevill’s Court.” 

“Thank you, thank you. Oh, and as you are a 
friend, perhaps you can inform me as to the customs of 
the household. I am not expected, and I do not wish 
to make an untimely visit. What are Mr. Belling- 
ham’s habits as to his evening meal? Would this be 
a convenient time to call?” 


120 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“JT generally make my evening visits a little later 
than this—say about half-past eight; they have finished 
their meal by then.” 

“Ah! Half-past eight, then? Then I suppose I had 
better take a walk until that time. I don’t want to 
disturb them.” 

‘“‘Would you care to come in and smoke a cigar until 
it is time to make your call? If you would, I could 
walk over with you and show you the house.” 

“That is very kind of you,” said my new acquaint- 
ance, with an inquisitive glance at me through his 
spectacles. “I think I should like to sit down. It’s 
a dull affair, mooning about the streets, and there isn’t 
time to go back to my chambers—in Lincoln’s Inn.” 

“T wonder,” said I, as I ushered him into the room 
lately vacated by Miss Oman, “if you happen to be 
Mr. Jellicoe.” 

He turned his spectacles full on me with a keen, sus- 
picious glance. ‘‘What makes you think I am Mr. 
Jellicoe?” he asked. 

“Oh, only that you live in Lincoln’s Inn.” 

“Hal Isee. I live in Lincoln’s Inn; Mr. Jellicoe 
lives in Lincoln’s Inn; therefore I am Mr. Jellicoe. 
Ha! ha! Bad logic, but a correct conclusion. Yes, I 
am Mr. Jellicoe. What do you know about me?” 

“Mighty little, excepting that you were the late 
John Bellingham’s man of business.” 

“The ‘late John Bellingham,’ hey! How do you 
know he is the late John Bellingham?” 

“As a matter of fact, I don’t; only I rather under- 
stood that that was your own belief.” 

“You understood! Now from whom did you ‘un- 
derstand’ that? From Godfrey Bellingham? H’m!' 
And how did he know what I believe? I never told 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN . i2r 


him. It is a very unsafe thing, my dear sir, to expound 
another man’s beliefs.” 

“Then you think that John Bellingham is alive?” 

“Do I? Who said so? I did not, you know.” 

“But he must be either dead or alive.” 

“There,” said Mr. Jellicoe, “I am entirely with you. 
You have stated an undeniable truth.” 

“It is not a very illuminating one, however,’ I re- 
plied, laughing. 

“Undeniable truths often are not,” he retorted. 
‘“They are apt to be extremely general. In fact, I 
would affirm that the certainty of the truth of a given 
proposition is directly proportional to its generality.” 

“T suppose that is so,” said I. 

“Undoubtedly. Take an instance from your own 
profession. Given a million normal human beings 
under twenty, and you can say with certainty that a 
majority of them will die before reaching a certain 
age, that they will die in certain circumstances and of 
certain diseases. Then take a single unit from that 
million, and what can you predict concerning him? 
Nothing. He may die to-morrow; he may live to be 
a couple of hundred. He may die of a cold in the’ 
head or a cut finger, or from falling off the cross of 
St. Paul’s. In a particular case you can predict 
nothing.” 

“That is perfectly true,” said I. And then realizing 
that I had been led away from the topic of John Belling- 
ham, I ventured to return to it. 

“That was a very mysterious affair—the disappear- 
ance of John Bellingham, I mean.” 

“Why mysterious?” asked Mr. Jellicoe. ‘Men dis- 
appear from time to time, and when they reappear, the 


ye 
bm 


122 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


explanations that they give (when they give any) seem 
more or less adequate.” 

“But the circumstances were surely rather mys- 
terious.” 

“What circumstances?” asked Mr. Jellicoe. 

“T mean the way in which he vanished from Mr. 
Hurst’s house.” 

“In what way did he vanish from it?” 

“Well, of course, I don’t know.” 

“Precisely. Neither do I. Therefore I can’t say 
whether that way was a mysterious one or not.” 

“Tt is not even certain that he did leave it,” I re- 
marked, rather recklessly. | 

“Exactly,” said Mr. Jellicoe. ‘And if he did not, 
he is there still. And if he is there still, he has not 
disappeared—in the sense understood. And if he has 
not disappeared, there is no mystery.” 

I laughed heartily, but Mr. Jellicoe preserved a 
wooden solemnity and continued to examine me through 
his spectacles (which I, in my turn, inspected and es- 
timated at about minus five dioptres). There was 
something highly diverting about, this grim lawyer, 
with his dry contentiousness and almost farcical cau- 
tion. His ostentatious reserve encouraged me to ply 
him with fresh questions, the more indiscreet the better. 

“TI suppose,” said I, “that, under these circum- 
stances, you would hardly favor Mr, Hurst’s proposal 
to apply for permission to presume death?” 

“Under what circumstances?” he inquired. 

“T was referring to the doubt you have expressed as 
to whether John Bellingham is, after all, really dead.” 

“My dear sir,” said he, “I fail to see your point. If 
it were certain that the man was alive, it would be im- 
possible to presume that he was dead; and if it were 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN © 123 


certain that he was dead, presumption of death would 
still be impossible. You do not presume a certainty. 
The uncertainty is of the essence of the transaction.” 

“But,” I persisted, “if you really believe that he 
may be alive, I should hardly have thought that you 
would take the responsibility of presuming his death 
and dispersing his property.” 

“T don’t,” said Mr. Jellicoe. “I take no responsi- 
bility. I act in accordance with the decision of the 
Court and have no choice in the matter.” 

“But the Court may decide that he is dead and he 
may nevertheless be alive.” 

“Not at all. If the Court decides that he is pre- 
sumably dead, then he is presumably dead. As a mere 
irrelevant, physical circumstance he may, it is true, 
be alive. But legally speaking, and for testamentary 
purposes, he is dead. You fail to perceive the dis- 
tinction, no doubt?” 

“T am afraid I do,” I admitted. 

“Yes; the members of your profession usually do. 
That is what makes them such bad witnesses in a court 
of law. The scientific outlook is radically different — 
from the legal. The man of science relies on his own 
knowledge and observation and judgment, and disre- 
gards testimony. A man comes to you and tells you 
he is blind in one eye. Do you accept his statement? 
Not in the least. You proceed to test his eyesight with | 
some infernal apparatus of colored glasses, and you 
find that he can see perfectly well with both eyes. 
Then you decide that he is not blind in one eye; that 
is to say, you reject his testimony in favor of facts 
of your own ascertaining.” 

“But surely that is the rational method of coming 
to a conclusion?” 


124 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“In science, no doubt. Not inlaw. A court of law 
must decide according to the evidence which is before 
it; and that evidence is of the nature of sworn testi- 
mony. If a witness is prepared to swear that black 
is white and no evidence to the contrary is offered, the 
evidence before the Court is that black is white, and 
the Court must decide accordingly. The judge and 
the jury may think otherwise—they may even have 
private knowledge to the contrary—but they have to 
decide according to the evidence.” 

“Do you mean to say that a judge would be justified 
in giving a decision which he knew to be contrary to 
the facts? Or that he might sentence a man whom 
he knew to be innocent?” 

“Certainly. It has been done. There is a case of a 
judge who sentenced a man to death and allowed the 
execution to take place, notwithstanding that he—the 
judge—had actually seen the murder committed by an- 
other man. But that was carrying correctness of pro- 
cedure to the verge of pedantry.” 

“It was, with a vengeance,” I agreed. ‘But to re- 
turn to the case of John Bellingham. Supposing that 
after the Court has decided that he is dead he should 
return alive? What then?” 

“Ah! It would then be his turn to make an applica- 
tion, and the Court, having fresh evidence laid before 
it, would probably decide that he was alive.” 

“And meantime his property would have been dis- 
persed?” 

“Probably. But you will observe that the presump- 
tion of death would have arisen out of his own pro- 
ceedings. Ifa man acts in such a way as to create a 
belief that he is dead, he must put up with the con- 
sequences.” 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN _ 125 


“Yes, that is reasonable enough,” said I. And then, 
after a pause, I asked: “Is there any immediate like- 
lihood of proceedings of the kind being commenced?” 

“T understood from what you said just now that Mr. 
Hurst was contemplating some action of the kind. No 
doubt you had your information from a reliable quar- 
ter.” This answer Mr. Jellicoe delivered without mov- 
ing a muscle, regarding me with the fixity of a spec- 
tacled figurehead. 

I smiled feebly. The operation of pumping Mr. Jel- 
licoe was rather like the sport of boxing with a porcu- 
pine, being chiefly remarkable as a demonstration of 
the power of passive resistance. I determined, how- 
ever, to make one more effort, rather, I think, for the 
pleasure of witnessing his defensive maneuvers than 
with the expectation of getting anything out of him. 
I accordingly “opened out” on the subject of the 
“remains.” 

“Have you been following these remarkable discov- 
eries of human bones that have been appearing in the 
papers?” I asked. 

He looked at me stonily for some moments, and then 
replied: 

“fuman bones are rather more within your province 
than mine, but, now that you mention it, I think I 
recall having read of some such discoveries. They 
were disconnected bones, I believe.” 

“Ves: evidently parts of a dismembered body.” 

“So I should suppose. No, I have not followed the 
accounts. As we get on in life our interests tend to 
settle into grooves, and my groove is chiefly connected 
with conveyancing. ‘These discoveries would be of 
more interest to a criminal lawyer.” 


126 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T thought you might, perhaps, have connected them 
with the disappearance of your client?” 

“Why should I? What could be the nature of the 
connection?” 

“Well,” I said, “these are the bones of a man ‘3 

“Yes; and my client was a man with bones. That 
is a connection, certainly, though not a very specific 
or distinctive one. But perhaps you had something 
more particular in your mind?” 

“T had,” I replied. “The fact that some of the bones 
were actually found on land belonging to your client 
seemed to me rather significant.” 

“Did it, indeed?” said Mr. Jellicoe. He reflected 
for a few moments, gazing steadily at me the while, 
and then continued: ‘In that I am unable to follow 
you. It would have seemed to me that the finding of 
human remains upon a certain piece of land might 
conceivably throw a prima facie suspicion upon the 
owner or occupant of the land as being the person who 
deposited them. But the case that you suggest is the 
one case in which this would be impossible. A man 
cannot deposit his own dismembered remains.” 

“No, of course not. I was not suggesting that he 
deposited them himself, but merely that the fact of 
their being deposited on his land, in a way, connected 
these remains with him.” 

“Again,” said Mr. Jellicoe, “I fail to follow you, 
unless you are suggesting that it is customary for mur- 
derers who mutilate bodies to be punctilious in de- 
positing the dismembered remains upon land belonging 
to their victims. In which case I am skeptical as to 
your facts. I am not aware of the existence of any such 
custom. Moreover, it appears that only a portion of 
the body was deposited on Mr. Bellingham’s land, the 





THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN 127 


remaining portions having been scattered broadcast 
over a wide area. How does that agree with your sug- 
gestion?” 

“It doesn’t, of course,” I admitted. “But there is 
another fact that I think you will admit to be more 
significant. The first remains that were discovered 
were found at Sidcup. Now, Sidcup is close to EI- 
tham; and Eltham is the place where Mr. Bellingham 
was last seen alive.” 

“And what is the significance of this? Why do you 
connect the remains with one locality rather than the 
various other localities in which other portions of the 
body were found?” 

“Well,” I replied, rather graveled by this very per- 
tinent question, “the appearances seem to suggest that 
the person who deposited these remains started from 
the neighborhood of Eltham, where the missing man 
was last seen.” 

Mr. Jellicoe shook his head. “You appear,” said 
he, “to be confusing the order of deposition with the 
order of discovery. What evidence is there that the 
remains found at Sidcup were deposited before those 
found elsewhere?” 

“T don’t know that there is any,” I admitted. 

“Then,” said he, “I don’t see how you support your 
suggestion that the person started from the neighbor- 
hood of Eltham.” 

On consideration, I had to admit that I had nothing 
to offer in support of my theory; and having thus shot 
my last arrow in this very unequal contest, I thought 
it time to change the subject. 

“T called in at the British Museum the other day,” 
said I, “and had a look at Mr. Bellingham’s last gift 


128 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


to the nation. The things are very well shown in that 
central case.” 

“Yes. I was very pleased with the position they 
have given to the exhibit, and so would my poor old 
friend have been. I wished, as I looked at the case, 
that he could have seen it. But perhaps he may, after 
all.” 

“YT am sure I hope he will,” said I, with more sincer- 
ity, perhaps, than the lawyer gave me credit for. For 
the return of John Bellingham would most effectually 
have cut the Gordian knot of my friend Godfrey’s diffi- 
culties. ‘You are a good deal interested in Egyptol- 
ogy yourself, aren’t your” I added. 

“Greatly interested,” replied Mr, Jellicoe, with more 
animation than I had thought possible in his wooden 
face. “It is a fascinating subject, the study of this 
venerable civilization, extending back to the childhood 
of the human race, preserved for ever for our instruc- 
tion in its own unchanging monuments like a fly in a 
block of amber. Everything connected with Egypt is. 
full of an impressive solemnity. A feeling of perma- 
nence, of stability, defying time and change, pervades 
it. The place, the people, and the monuments alike 
breathe of eternity.” 

I was mightily surprised at this rhetorical outburst 
on the part of this dry, taciturn lawyer. But I liked 
him the better for the touch of enthusiasm that made 
him human, and determined to keep him astride of his 
hobby. , 

“Yet,” said I, “the people must have changed in the 
course of centuries.” 

“Ves, that is so. The people who fought against 
Cambyses were not the race who marched into Egypt 
five thousand years before—the dynastic people whose 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN 129 


portraits we see on the early monuments. In those fifty 
centuries the blood of Hyksos and Syrians and Ethio- 
pians and Hittites, and who can say how many more 
races, must have mingled with that of the old Egyptians. 
But still the national life went on without a break; the 
old culture leavened the new peoples, and the immigrant 
strangers ended by becoming Egyptians. It is a won- 
derful phenomenon. Looking back on it from our 
own time, it seems more like a geological period than 
the life history of a single nation. Are you at all 
interested in the subject?” 

“Yes, decidedly, though I am completely ignorant of 
it. The fact is that my interest is of quite recent 
growth. It is only of late that I have been sensible of 
the glamor of things Egyptian.” 

“Since you made Miss Bellingham’s acquaintance, 
perhaps?” suggested Mr. Jellicoe, himself as unchang- 
ing in aspect as an Egyptian effigy. 

I suppose I must have reddened—I certainly resented 
the remark—for he continued in the same even tone: 
“T made the suggestion because I know that she takes 
an intelligent interest in the subject and is, in fact, 
quite well informed on it.” 

“Yes; she seems to know a great deal about the an- 
tiquities of Egypt, and I may as well admit that your 
surmise was correct. It was she who showed me her 
uncle’s collection.” 

“So I had supposed,” said Mr. Jellicoe. ‘And a 
very instructive collection it is, in a popular sense; very 
suitable for exhibition in a public museum, though there 
is nothing in it of unusual interest to the expert. The 
tomb furniture is excellent of its kind and the carton- 
nage case of the mummy is well made and rather finely 
decorated.” , 


130 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Yes, I thought it quite handsome. But can you 
explain to me why, after taking all that trouble to deco- 
rate it, they should have disfigured it with those great 
smears of bitumen?”’ 

‘“‘Ah!” said Mr, Jellicoe, “that is quite an interesting 
question. It is not unusual to find mummy cases 
smeared with bitumen; there is a mummy of a priestess 
in the next gallery which is completely coated with 
bitumen except the gilded face. Now, this bitumen was 
put on for a purpose—for the purpose of obliterating 
the inscriptions and thus concealing the identity of the 
deceased from the robbers and desecrators of tombs. 
And there is the oddity of this mummy of Sebek-hotep. 
Evidently there was an intention of obliterating the 
inscriptions. The whole of the back is covered thickly 
with bitumen, and so are the feet. Then the workers 
seem to have changed their minds and left the inscrip- 
tions and decoration untouched. Why they intended to 
cover it, and why, having commenced, they left it par- 
tially covered only, is a mystery. The mummy was 
found in its original tomb and quite undisturbed, so 
far as tomb-robbers are concerned. Poor Bellingham 
was greatly puzzled as to what the explanation could 
be.”? 

“Speaking of bitumen,” said I, “reminds me of a 
question that has occurred to me. You know that this 
substance has been used a good deal by modern paint- 
ers and that it has a very dangerous peculiarity; I mean 
its tendency to liquefy, without any obvious reason, 
long after it has dried.” 

“Ves, I know. Isn’t there some story about a pic- 
ture of Reynolds’s in which bitumen had been used? A 
portrait of a lady, I think. The bitumen softened, and 
one of the lady’s eyes slipped down on to her cheek; 


THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN’S INN 131 


and they had to hang the portrait upside down and keep 
it warm until the eye slipped back again into its place. 
But what was your question?” 

“I was wondering whether the bitumen used by the 
Egyptian artists has ever been known to soften after 
this great lapse of time.” 

“Yes, I think it has. I have heard of instances in 
which the bitumen coatings have softened under cer- 
tain circumstances and become quite ‘tacky.’ But, 
bless my soul! here am I gossiping with you and wast- 
ing your time, and it is nearly a quarter to nine!” 

My guest rose hastily, and I, with many apologies 
for having detained him, proceeded to fulfil my prom- 
ise to guide him to his destination. As we sallied forth 
together the glamour of Egypt faded by degrees, and 
when he shook my hand stiffly at the gate of the Bel- 
linghams’ house, all his vivacity and enthusiasm had 
vanished, leaving the taciturn lawyer, dry, uncommu- 
nicative, and not a little suspicious. 


CHAPTER X 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 


THE “Great Lexicographer”—tutelary deity of my 
adopted habitat—has handed down to shuddering pos- 
terity a definition of the act of eating which might have 
been framed by a dyspeptic ghoul. ‘Eat: to devour 
with the mouth.” It is a shocking view to take of so 
genial a function: cynical, indelicate, and finally unfor- 
givable by reason of its very accuracy. For, after all, 
that is what eating amounts to, if one must needs 
express it with such crude brutality. But if “the in- 
gestion of alimentary substances”—to ring a modern 
change upon the older formula—is in itself a process 
material even unto carnality, it is undeniable that it 
forms a highly agreeable accompaniment to more psy- 
chic manifestations. 

And so, as the lamplight, reinforced by accessory 
candles, falls on the little table in the first-floor room 
looking on Fetter Lane—only now the curtains are 
drawn—the conversation is not the less friendly and 
bright for a running accompaniment executed with 
knives and forks, for clink of goblet, and jovial gurgle 
of wine-flask. On the contrary, to one of us, at least— 
to wit, Godfrey Bellingham—the occasion is one of un- 
common festivity, and his boyish enjoyment of the sim- 
ple feast makes pathetic suggestions of hard times, 
faced uncomplainingly, but keenly felt nevertheless. ; 

The talk flitted from topic to topic, mainly concern- 

132 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 133 


ing itself with matters artistic, and never for one mo- 
ment approaching the critical subject of John Belling- 
ham’s will. From the stepped pyramid of Sakkara with 
its encaustic tiles to medieval church floors; from Eliz- 
abethan woodwork to Mycenean pottery, and thence to 
the industrial arts of the Stone Age and the civilization 
of the Aztecs. I began to suspect that my two legal 
friends were so carried away by the interest of the 
conversation that they had forgotten the secret purpose 
of the meeting, for the dessert had been placed on the 
table (by Mrs. Gummer with the manner of a bereaved 
dependent dispensing funeral bakemeats), and still no 
reference had been made to the “‘case.”” But it seemed 
that Thorndyke was but playing a waiting game; was 
only allowing the intimacy to ripen while he watched 
for the opportunity. And that opportunity came, even 
as Mrs. Gummer vanished spectrally with a tray of 
plates and glasses. 

“So you had a visitor last night, Doctor,” said Mr. 
Bellingham. “I mean my friend Jellicoe. He told us 
he had seen you, and mighty curious he was about you. 
I have never known Jellicoe to be so inquisitive before. 
What did you think of him?” 

“A quaint old cock. I found him highly amusing. 
We entertained one another for quite a long time with 
cross-questions and crooked answers; I affecting eager 
curiosity, he replying with a defensive attitude of uni- 
versal ignorance. It was a most diverting encounter.” 

“fe needn’t have been so close,” Miss Bellingham 
remarked, “seeing that all the world will be regaled 
with our affairs before long.” 

“They are proposing to take the case into Court, 
then?” said Thorndyke. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Bellingham. “Jellicoe came to tell 


134 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


me that my cousin, Hurst, has instructed his solicitors 
to make the application and to invite me to join him. 
Actually he came to deliver an ultimatum from Hurst— 
but I mustn’t disturb the harmony of this festive gath- 
ering with litigious discords.”’ 

“‘Now, why mustn’t you?” asked Thorndyke. “Why 
is a subject in which we are all keenly interested to be 
taboo? You don’t mind telling us about it, do you?” 

“No, of course not. But what do you think of a man 
who button-holes a doctor at a dinner-party to retail a 
list of ailments?” 

“It depends on what his ailments are,” replied Thorn- 
dyke. ‘If he is a chronic dyspeptic and wishes to ex- 
pound the virtues of Doctor Snaffler’s Purple Pills for 
Pimply People, he is merely a bore. But if he chances 
to suffer from some rare and choice disease such as 
Trypanosomiasis or Acromegaly, the doctor will be 
delighted to listen.” 

“Then are we to understand,” Miss Bellingham 
asked, ‘“‘that we are rare and choice products, in a 
legal sense?” | 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Thorndyke. ‘The case of 
John Bellingham is, in many respects, unique. It will 
be followed with the deepest interest by the profession 
at large, and especially by medical jurists.” 

“How gratifying that should be to us!” said Miss 
Bellingham. ‘We may even attain undying fame in 
textbooks and treatises; and yet we are not so very 
much puffed up with our importance.” 

“No,” said her father; ‘we could do without the 
fame quite well, and so, I think, could Hurst. Did 
Berkeley tell you of the proposal that he made?” 

“Ves,” said Thorndyke; “and I gather from what 
you say that he has repeated it.” 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 135 


“Yes. He sent Jellicoe to give me another chance, 
and I was tempted to take it; but my daughter was 
strongly against any compromise, and probably she is 
right. At any rate, she is more concerned than I am.” 

“What view did Mr. Jellicoe take?” Thorndyke 
asked, 

“Oh, he was very cautious and reserved, but he 
didn’t disguise his feeling that I should be wise to take 
a certainty in lieu of a very problematical fortune. He 
would certainly like me to agree, for he naturally wishes 
to get the affair settled and pocket his legacy.” 

‘And have you definitely refused?” 

“Yes; quite definitely. So Hurst will apply for per- 
mission to presume death and prove the will, and Jel- 
licoe will support him; he says he has no choice.” 

“And you?” 

“T suppose I shall oppose the application, though I 
don’t quite know on what grounds.” 

“Before you take definite steps,’’ said Thorndyke, 
“you ought to give the matter very careful considera- 
tion. I take it that you have very little doubt that 
your brother is dead. And if he is dead, any benefit 
that you may receive under the will must be conditional 
on the previous presumption or proof of death. But 
perhaps you have taken advice?” 

“No, I have not. As our friend the Doctor has 
probably told you, my means—or rather, the lack of 
them—do not admit of my getting professional advice. 
Hence my delicacy about discussing the case with you.” 

“Then do you propose to conduct your case in per- 
son?” 

“Ves; if it is necessary for me to appear in Court, as 
I suppose it will be, if I oppose the application.” 


136 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Thorndyke reflected for a few moments and then 
said gravely: | 

“You had much better not appear in person to con- 
duct your case, Mr. Bellingham, for several reasons. 
To begin with, Mr. Hurst is sure to be represented by 
a capable counsel, and you will find yourself quite un- 
able to meet the sudden exigencies of a contest in Court. 
You will be out-maneuvered. Then there is the judge 
to be considered.” 

“But surely one can rely on the judge dealing fairly 
with a man who is unable to afford a solicitor and 
counsel?” 

“Undoubtedly, as a rule, a judge will give an unrep- 
resented litigant every assistance and consideration. 
English judges in general are high-minded men with a 
deep sense of their great responsibilities. But you 
cannot afford to take any chances. You must consider 
the exceptions. A judge has been a counsel, and he 
may carry to the bench some of the professional prej- 
udices of the bar. Indeed, if you consider the absurd 
license permitted to counsel in their treatment of wit- 
nesses, and the hostile attitude adopted by some judges ~ 
toward medical and other scientific men who have to 
give their evidence, you will see that the judicial mind ~ 
is not always quite as judicial as one would wish, es- 
pecially when the privileges and immunities of the pro- 
fession are concerned. Now, your appearance in per- 
son to conduct your case must, unavoidably, cause some 
inconvenience to the Court. Your ignorance of pro- 
cedure and legal details must occasion some delay; 
and if the judge should happen to be an irritable man 
he might resent the inconvenience and delay. I don’t 
say that would affect his decision—I don’t think it 
would—but I am sure it would be wise to avoid giving 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 137 


offense to the judge. And, above all, it is most desirable 
to be able to detect and reply to any maneuvers on 
the part of the opposing counsel, which you certainly 
would not be able to do.” 

“This is excellent advice, Doctor Thorndyke,” said 
Bellingham, with a grim smile; “but I’m afraid I shall 
have to take my chance.” 

“Not necessarily,” said Thorndyke. “I am going to 
make a little proposal, which I will ask you to consider 
without prejudice as a mutual accommodation. You 
see, your case is one of exceptional interest—it will 
become a textbook case, as Miss Bellingham prophe- 
sied; and, since it lies within my specialty, it will be 
necessary for me to follow it in the closest detail. 
Now, it would be much more satisfactory to me to 
study it from within than from without, to say noth- 
ing of the credit which would accrue to me if I should 
be able to conduct it to a successful issue. I am there- 
fore going to ask you to put your case in my hands 
and let me see what can be done with it. I know this 
is an unusual course for a professional man to take, 
but I think it is not improper under the circumstances.” 

Mr. Bellingham pondered in silence for a few mo- 
ments, and then, after a glance at his daughter, began 
rather hesitatingly: ‘It’s very generous of you, Doctor 
Thorndyke——” 

“Pardon me,” interrupted Thorndyke, “it is not. 
My motives, as I have explained, are purely egoistic.” 

Mr. Bellingham laughed uneasily and again glanced 
at his daughter, who, however, pursued her occupation 
of peeling a pear with calm deliberation and without 
lifting her eyes. Getting no help from her he asked: 
“Do you think that there is any possibility whatever 
of a successful issue?” 


138 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Yes, a remote possibility—very remote, I fear, as 
things look at present; but if I thought the case abso- 
lutely hopeless I should advise you to stand aside and 
let events take their course.” 

“Supposing the case should come to a favorable ter- 
mination, would you allow me to settle your fees in the 
ordinary way?” 

“Tf the choice lay with me,” replied Thorndyke, “I 
should say ‘yes’ with pleasure. But it does not. The 
attitude of the profession is very definitely unfavorable 
to ‘speculative’ practise. You may remember the well-— 
known firm of Dodson and Fogg, who gained thereby 
much profit, but little credit. But why discuss con- 
tingencies of this kind? If I bring your case to a suc- 
cessful issue I shall have done very well for myself. 
We shall have benefited one another mutually. Come 
now, Miss Bellingham, I appeal to you. We have eaten 
salt together, to say nothing of pigeon pie and other 
cates. Won’t you back me up, and at the same time do 
a kindness to Doctor Berkeley?” 

“Why, is Doctor Berkeley interested in our deci- 
sion?” : 

“Certainly he is, as you will appreciate when I tell 
you that he actually tried to bribe me secretly out of 
his own pocket.” 

“Did your” she asked, looking at me with an expres- 
sion that rather alarmed me. 

“Well, not exactly,” I replied, mighty hot and un- 
comfortable, and wishing Thorndyke at the devil with 
his confidences. ‘I merely mentioned that the—the— 
solicitor’s costs, you know, and that sort of thing—but 
you needn’t jump on me, Miss Bellingham; Doctor 
Thorndyke did all that was necessary in that way.” 

She continued to look at me thoughtfully as I stam- 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 139 


mered out my excuses, and then said: “I wasn’t going 
to. I was only thinking that poverty has its compensa- 
tions. You are all so very good to us; and, for my part, 
I should accept Doctor Thorndyke’s generous offer most 
gratefully, and thank him for making it so easy for us.” 

“Very well, my dear, said Mr. Bellingham; ‘we will 
enjoy the sweets of poverty, as you say—we have 
sampled the other kind of thing pretty freely—and do 
ourselves the pleasure of accepting a great kindness, 
most delicately offered.” 

“Thank you,” said Thorndyke. ‘You have justified 
my faith in you, Miss Bellingham, and in the power 
of Dr. Berkeley’s salt. I understand that you place 
your affairs in my hands?” 

“Entirely and thankfully,” replied Mr. Bellingham. 
“Whatever you think best to be done we agree to 
beforehand.” 7 

“Then,” said I, “let us drink success to the cause. 
Port, if you please, Miss Bellingham; the vintage is not 
recorded, but it is quite wholesome, and a suitable medi- 
um for the sodium chloride of friendship.” I filled 
her glass, and when the bottle had made its circuit, we 
stood up and solemnly pledged the new alliance. 

“There is just one thing I would say before we dis- 
miss the subject for the present,” said Thorndyke. “It 
is a good thing to keep one’s own counsel. When you 
get formal notice from Mr. Hurst’s solicitors that pro- 
ceedings are being commenced, you may refer them to 
Mr. Marchmont of Gray’s Inn, who will nominally act 
for you. He will actually have nothing to do, but we 
must preserve the fiction that I am instructed by a so- 
licitor. Meanwhile, and until the case goes into court, 
I think it very necessary that neither Mr. Jellicoe nor 


140 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


anyone else should know that I am connected with it. 
We must keep the other side in the dark, if we can.” 

‘“‘We will be as secret as the grave,” said Mr. Belling- 
ham; “and, as a matter of fact, it will be quite easy, 
since it happens, by a curious coincidence, that I am 
already acquainted with Mr. Marchmont. He acted 
for Stephen Blackmore, you remember, in that case 
that you unraveled so wonderfully. I knew the Black- 
mores.” 

“Did you?” said Thorndyke. ‘What a small world 
it is. And what a remarkable affair that was! The 
intricacies and cross-issues made it quite absorbingly 
interesting; and it is noteworthy for me in another 
respect, for it was one of the first cases in which I was 
associated with Doctor Jervis.” 

“Yes, and a mighty useful associate I was,” remarked 
Jervis, “though I did pick up one or two facts by acci- 
dent. And, by the way, the Blackmore case had certain 
points in common with your case, Mr. Bellingham. 
There was a disappearance and a disputed will, and 
the man who vanished was a scholar and an antiquar- 
jan.” 

“Cases in our specialty are apt to have certain 
general resemblances,” Thorndyke said; and as he 
spoke he directed a keen glance at his junior, the sig- 
nificance of which I partly understood when he abruptly 
changed the subject. 

“The newspaper reports of your brother’s disappear- 
ance, Mr. Bellingham, were remarkably full of detail. 
There were even plans of your house and that of Mr. 
Hurst. Do you know who supplied the information?” 

“No, I don’t,” replied Mr. Bellingham. “I know. 
that I didn’t. Some newspaper men came to me for 
information, but I sent them packing. So, I under- 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 14! 


stand, did Hurst; and as for Jellicoe, you might as well 
cross-examine an oyster.” 

“Well,” said Thorndyke, “the pressmen have queer 
methods of getting ‘copy’; but still, some one must 
have given them that description of your brother and 
those plans. It would be interesting to know who it 
was. However, we don’t know; and now let us dismisss 
these legal topics, with suitable apologies for having 
introduced them.” 

“‘And perhaps,” said I, “‘we may as well adjourn to 
what we call the drawing-room—it is really Barnard’s 
den—and leave the housekeeper to wrestle with the 
débris.” 

We migrated to the cheerfully shabby little apart- 
ment, and, when Mrs. Gummer had served coffee, with 
gloomy resignation (as who should say: “If you will 
drink this sort of stuff I suppose you must, but don’t 
blame me for the consequences”’), I settled Mr. Belling- 
ham in Barnard’s favorite lop-sided easy chair—the 
depressed seat of which suggested its customary use by 
an elephant of sedentary habits—and opened the dimin- 
utive piano. 

“T wonder if Miss Bellingham would give us a little 
music?” I said. 

“I wonder if she could?” was the smiling response. 
“Do you know,” she continued, “I have not touched a 
piano for nearly two years? It will be quite an inter- 
esting experiment—to me; but if it fails, you will be 
the sufferers. So you must choose.” 

“My verdict,” said Mr. Bellingham, “‘is fiat experi- 
mentum, though I won’t complete the quotation, as that 
would seem to disparage Doctor Barnard’s piano. But 
before you begin, Ruth, there is one rather disagree- 


142 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


able matter that I want to dispose of, so that I may not 
disturb the harmony with it later.” 

He paused and we all looked at him expectantly. 

“YT suppose, Doctor Thorndyke,” he said, “you read 
the newspapers?” 

“T don’t,” replied Dr. Thorndyke. ‘But I ascertain, — 
for purely business purposes, what they contain.” 

“Then,” said Mr. Bellingham, “you have probably 
met with some accounts of the finding of certain human 
remains, apparently portions of a mutilated body.” 

“Yes, I have seen those reports and filed them for 
future reference.” 

“Exactly. Well, now, it can hardly be necessary for 
me to tell you that those remains—the mutilated re- 
mains of some poor murdered creature, as there can be 
no doubt they are—have seemed to have a very dread- 
ful significance for me. You will understand what I 
mean; and I want to ask you if—if they have made 
a similar suggestion to you?” 

Thorndyke paused before replying, with his eyes 
bent thoughtfully on the floor, and we all looked at 
him anxiously. 

“Tt’s very natural,” he said at length, “that you 
should associate these remains with the mystery of your 
brother’s disappearance. I should like to say that you 
are wrong in doing so, but if I did I should be un- 
candid. There are certain facts that do, undoubtedly, 
seem to suggest a connection, and, up to the present, 
there are no definite facts of a contrary significance.” 

Mr. Bellingham sighed deeply and shifted uncom- 
fortably in his chair. 

“Tt is a horrible affair!” he said huskily; “horrible! 
Would you mind, Doctor Thorndyke, telling us just 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 143 


how the matter stands in your opinion—what the prob- 
abilities are, for and against?” 

Again Thorndyke reflected awhile, and it seemed to 
me that he was not very willing to discuss the subject. 
However, the question had been asked pointedly, and 
eventually he answered: 

“At the present stage of the investigation it is not 
very easy to state the balance of probabilities. The 
matter is still quite speculative. The bones which have 
been found hitherto (for we are dealing with a skeleton, 
not with a body) have been exclusively those which are 
useless for personal identification; which is, in itself, 
a rather curious and striking fact. The general char- 
acter and dimensions of the bones seem to suggest a 
middle-aged man of about your brother’s height, and 
the date of deposition appears to be in agreement with 
the date of his disappearance.” 

“Ts it known, then, when they were deposited?” asked 
Mr. Bellingham. 

“In the case of those found at Sidcup it seems pos- 
sible to deduce an approximate date. The watercress- 
bed was cleaned out about two years ago, so they could 
not have been lying there longer than that; and their 
condition suggests that they could not have been there 
much less than two years, as there is apparently no 
vestige of the soft structures left. Of course, I am 
speaking from the newspaper reports only; I have no 
direct knowledge of the matter.” 

“‘Have they found any considerable part of the body 
yet? JI haven’t been reading the papers myself. My 
little friend, Miss Oman, brought a great bundle of 
’em for me to read, but I couldn’t stand it; I pitched 
the whole boiling of ’em out of the window.” 


144 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


I thought I detected a slight twinkle in Thorndyke’s 
eye, but he answered quite gravely: 

“T think I can give you the particulars from memory, 
though I won’t guarantee the dates. The original dis- 
covery was made, apparently quite accidentally, at Sid- 
cup on the fifteenth of July. It consisted of a complete 
left arm, minus the third finger and including the bones 
of the shoulder—the shoulder-blade and collar-bone. 
This discovery seems to have set the local population, 
especially the juvenile part of it, searching all the ponds 
and streams of the neighborhood 4 

“Cannibals!” interjected Mr, Bellingham. 

“With the result that there was dredged up out of a 
pond near St. Mary Cray, in Kent, a right thigh-bone. 
There is a slight clue to identity in respect of this 
bone, since the head of it has a small patch of ‘eburna- 
tion’—that is a sort of porcelain-like polish that occurs 
on the parts of bones that form a joint when the natural 
covering of cartilage is destroyed by disease. It is pro- 
duced by the unprotected surface of the bone grinding 
against the similarly unprotected surface of another.” 

“And how,” Mr. Bellingham asked, ‘“‘would that help 
the identification?” 

“It would indicate,” Thorndyke replied, “that the 
deceased had probably suffered from rheumatoid ar- 
thritis—what is commonly known as rheumatic gout— 
and he would probably have limped slightly and com- 
plained of some pain in the right hip.” 

“I’m afraid that doesn’t help us very much,” said 
Mr. Bellingham; “for, you see, John had a pretty pro- 
nounced limp from another cause, an old injury to his 
left ankle; and as to complaining of pain—well, he was 
a hardy old fellow and not much given to making com- 
plaints of any kind. But don’t let me interrupt you.” 





THE NEW ALLIANCE 145 


“The next discovery,” continued Thorndyke, “was 
made near Lee, by the police this time. They seem to 
have developed sudden activity in the matter, and in 
searching the neighborhood of West Kent they dragged 
out of a pond near Lee the bones of a right foot. Now, 
if it had been the left instead of the right we might 
have a clue, as I understand your brother had frac- 
tured his left ankle, and there might have been some 
traces of the injury on the foot itself.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Bellingham. “I suppose there might. 
The injury was described as a Pott’s fracture.” 

“Exactly. Well, now, after this discovery at Lee it 
seems that the police set on foot a systematic search of 
all the ponds and small pieces of water around London, 
and, on the twenty-third, they found in the Cuckoo 
Pits in Epping Forest, not far from Woodford, the 
bones of a right arm (including those of the shoulder, 
as before), which seem to be part of the same body.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Bellingham, “I heard of that. Quite 
close to my old house. Horrible! horrible! It gave 
me the shudders to think of it—to think that poor old 
John may have been waylaid and murdered when he 
was actually coming to see me. He may even have got 
into the grounds by the back gate, if it was left un- 
fastened, and been followed in there and murdered. 
You remember that a scarab from his watch-chain was 
found there? But is it clear that this arm was the 
fellow of the arm that was found at Sidcup?” 

“Tt seems to agree in character and dimensions,” said 
Thorndyke, “and the agreement is strongly supported 
by a discovery made two days later.” 

“What is that?” Mr. Bellingham demanded. 

“Tt is the lower half of a trunk which the police 
dragged out of a rather deep pond on the skirts of the 


146 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


forest at Loughton—Staple’s Pond, it is called. The 
bones found were the pelvis—that is, the two hip-bones 
—and six vertebre, or joints of the backbone. Having 
discovered these, the police dammed the stream and 
pumped the pond dry, but no other bones were found; 
which is rather odd, as there should have been a pair 
of ribs belonging to the upper vertebra—the twelfth 
dorsal vertebra. It suggests some curious questions as 
to the method of dismemberment; but I mustn’t go 
into unpleasant details. The point is that the cavity 
of the right hip-joint showed a patch of eburnation cor- 
responding to that on the head of the right thigh-bone 
that was found at St. Mary Cray. So there can be 
very little doubt that these bones are all part of the 
same body.” 

“T see,” grunted Mr. Bellingham; and he added, after 
a moment’s thought: “‘Now, the question is, Are these 
bones the remains of my brother John? What do you 
say, Doctor Thorndyke?” 

“T say that the question cannot be answered on the 
facts at present known to us. It can only be said that 
they may be, and that some of the circumstances sug- 
gest that they are. But we can only wait for further 
discoveries. At any moment the police may light upon 
some portion of the skeleton which will settle the ques- 
tion definitely one way or the other.” 

“T suppose,” said Mr. Bellingham, “TI can’t be of any 
service to you in the matter of identification?” 

“Indeed you can,” said Thorndyke, “‘and I was going 
to ask you to assist me. What I want you to do is this: 
Write down a full description of your brother, includ- 
ing every detail known to you, together with an ac- 
count of every illness or injury from which you know 
him to have suffered; also the names and, if possible, 


THE NEW ALLIANCE 147 


the addresses of any doctors, surgeons, or dentists who 
may have attended him at any time. The dentists 
are particularly important, as their information would 
be invaluable if the skull belonging to these bones 
should be discovered.” 

Mr. Bellingham shuddered. 

“Tt’s a shocking idea,” he said, “but, of course you 
are right. You must have the facts if you are to form 
an opinion. I will write out what you want and send it 
to you without delay. And now, for God’s sake, let 
us throw off this nightmare, for a little while, at least! 
What is there, Ruth, among Doctor Barnard’s music 
that you can manage?” 

Barnard’s collection in general inclined to the se- 
verely classical, but we disinterred from the heap a few 
lighter works of an old-fashioned kind, including a 
volume of Mendelssohn’s Lieder ohne Worte, and with 
one of these Miss Bellingham made trial of her skill, 
playing it with excellent taste and quite adequate exe- 
cution. That, at least, was her father’s verdict; for, 
as to me, I found it the perfection of happiness merely 
to sit and look at her—a state of mind that would have 
been in no wise disturbed even by “Silvery Waves” or 
“The Maiden’s Prayer.” 

Thus, with simple, homely music, and conversation 
always cheerful and sometimés brilliant, slipped away 
one of the pleasantest evenings of my life, and slipped 
away all too soon. St. Dunstan’s clock was the fly in 
the ointment, for it boomed out intrusively the hour 
of eleven just as my guests were beginning thoroughly 
to appreciate one another, and thereby carried the sun 
(with a minor paternal satellite) out of the firmament 
of my heaven. For I had, in my professional capacity, 
given strict injunctions that Mr. Bellingham should on 


148 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


no account sit up late; and now, in my social capacity, 
I had smilingly to hear “the doctor’s orders” quoted. 
It was a scurvy return for all my care. 

When Mr. and Miss Bellingham departed, Thorn- 
dyke and Jervis would have gone too; but noting my 
bereaved condition, and being withal compassionate and | 
tender of heart, they were persuaded to stay awhile and 
bear me company in a consolatory pipe. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED 


“So the game has opened,” observed Thorndyke, as 
he struck a match. ‘The play has begun with a cau- 
tious lead off by the other side. Very cautious and not 
very confident.” 

_ “Why do you say ‘not very confident’ ?” I asked. 

“Well, it is evident that Hurst—and, I fancy, Jellicoe 
too—is anxious to buy off Bellingham’s opposition, and 
at a pretty long price, under the circumstances. And 
when we consider how very little Bellingham has to 
offer against the presumption of his brother’s death, it 
looks as if Hurst hadn’t much to say on his side.” 

“No,” said Jervis, “he can’t hold many trumps or he 
wouldn’t be willing to pay four hundred a year for his 
opponent’s chance; and that is just as well, for it seems 
to me that our own hand is a pretty poor one.” 

“We must look through our hand and see what we do 
hold,” said Thorndyke, ‘Our trump card at present— 
a rather small one, I’m afraid—is the obvious intention 
of the testator that the bulk of the property should go 
to his brother.” 

“T suppose you will begin your inquiries now?” I said. 

“We began them some time ago—the day after you 
brought us the will, in fact. Jervis has been through the 
registers and has ascertained that no interment under 
the name of John Bellingham has taken place since the 
disappearance; which was just what we expected. He 

149 


150 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


has also discovered that some other person has been 
making similar inquiries; which, again, is what we ex- 
pected.” 

“And your own investigations?” 

“Have given negative results for the most part. I 
found Doctor Norbury, at the British Museum, very 
friendly and helpful; so friendly, in fact, that I am 
thinking whether I may not be able to enlist his help 
in certain private researches of my own, with reference 
to the change effected by time in the physical properties 
of certain substances.” 

“Oh; you haven’t told me about that,” said Jervis. 

“No; I haven’t really commenced to plan my experi- 
ments yet, and they will probably lead to nothing when 
Ido. It occurred to me that, possibly, in the course of 
time, certain molecular changes might take place in 
substances such as wood, bone, pottery, stucco, and 
other common materials, and that these changes might 
alter their power of conducting or transmitting molec- 
ular vibrations. Now, if this should turn out to be the 
case, it would be a fact of considerable importance, 
medico-legally and otherwise; for it would be possible 
to determine approximately the age of any object of 
known composition by testing its reactions to elec- 
tricity, heat, light and other molecular vibrations. I 
thought of seeking Doctor Norbury’s assistance because 
he can furnish me with materials for experiment of such 
great age that the reactions, if any, should be ex- 
tremely easy to demonstrate. But to return to our case. 
I learned from him that John Bellingham had certain 
friends in Paris—collectors and museum officials— 
whom he was in the habit of visiting for the purpose 
of study and exchange of specimens. I have made in- 
quiries of all these, and none of them had seen him 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED I51 


during his last visit. In fact, I have not yet dis- 
covered anyone who had seen Bellingham in Paris on 
this occasion. So his visit there remains a mystery for 
the present.” 

“It doesn’t seem to be of much importance, since he 
undoubtedly came back,” I remarked; but to this 
-Thorndyke demurred. 

“It is impossible to estimate the importance of the © 
unknown,” said he. : 

“Well, how does the matter stand,” asked Jervis, 
“on the evidence that we have? John Bellingham dis- 
appeared on a certain date. Is there anything to show 
what was the manner of his disappearance?”’ 

“The facts in our possession,” said Thorndyke, 
“which are mainly those set forth in the newspaper 
report, suggest several alternative possibilities; and in 
view of the coming inquiry—for they will, no doubt, 
have to be gone into in Court, to some extent—it may 
be worth while to consider them. There are five con- 
ceivable hypotheses’”—here Thorndyke checked them 
on his fingers as he proceeded—“First, he may still be 
alive. Second, he may have died and been buried with- 
out identification. Third, he may have been murdered 
by some unknown person. Fourth, he may have been 
murdered by Hurst and his body concealed. Fifth, he 
may have been murdered by his brother. Let us ex- 
amine these possibilities seriatim. 

“First, he may still be alive. If he is, he must either 
have disappeared voluntarily, have lost his memory 
suddenly and not been identified, or have been im- 
prisoned—on a false charge or otherwise. Let us take 
the first case—that of voluntary disappearance. Ob- 
viously, its improbability is extreme.” 

“Jellicoe doesn’t think so,” said I. “He thinks it 


152 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


quite on the cards that John Bellingham is alive. He 
says that it is not a very unusual thing for a man to 
disappear for a time.” 

“Then why is he applying for a presumption of 
death?” 

“Just what I asked him. He says that it is the 
correct thing to do; that the entire responsibility rests 
on the Court.” 

“That is all nonsense,” said Thorndyke. “Jellicoe 
is the trustee for his absent client, and, if he thinks that 
client is alive, it is his duty to keep the estate intact; 
and he knows that perfectly well. We may take it that 
Jellicoe is of the same opinion as I am: that John Bel- 
lingham is dead.” 

“Still,” I urged, “men do disappear from time to 
time, and turn up again after years of absence.” 

“Yes, but for a definite reason. Either they are ir- 
responsible vagabounds who take this way of shuffling 
off their responsibilities, or they are men who have 
been caught in a net of distasteful circumstances. For 
instance, a civil servant or a solicitor or a tradesman 
finds himself bound for life to a locality and an occu- 
pation of intolerable monotony. Perhaps he has an ill- 
tempered wife, who after the amiable fashion of a cer- 
tain type of woman, thinking that her husband is pinned 
down without a chance of escape, gives a free rein to 
her temper. The man puts up with it for years, but 
at last it becomes unbearable. Then he suddenly dis- 
appears; and small blame to him. But this was not 
Bellingham’s case. He was a wealthy bachelor with 
an engrossing interest in life, free to go whither he 
would and to do whatsoever he wished. Why should he 
disappear? The thing is incredible. 

“As to his having lost his memory and remained un- 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED 153 


identified, that, also, is incredible in the case of a man 
who had visiting-cards and letters in his pocket, whose 
linen was marked, and who was being inquired for 
everywhere by the police. As to his being in prison, 
we may dismiss that possibility, inasmuch as a prisoner, 
both before and after conviction, would have full op- 
portunity of communicating with his friends. 

“The second possibility, that he may have died sud- 
denly and been buried without identification, is highly 
_ improbable; but, as it is conceivable that the body 
might have been robbed and the means of identification 
thus lost, it remains as a possibility that has to be con- 
sidered, remote as it is. 

“The third hypothesis, that he may have been mur- 
dered by some unknown person, is, under the circum- 
stances, not wildly improbable; but, as the police were 
on the lookout and a detailed description of the missing 
man’s person was published in the papers, it would in- 
volve the complete concealment of the body. But this 
would exclude the most probable form of crime—the 
casual robbery with violence. It is therefore possible, 
but highly improbable. 

“The fourth hypothesis is that Bellingham was mur- 
dered by Hurst. Now the one fact which militates 
against this view is that Hurst apparently had no mo- 
tive for committing the murder. We are assured by 
Jellicoe that no one but himself knew the contents of 
the will, and if this is so—but mind, we have no evi- 
dence that it is so—Hurst would have no reason to 
suppose that he had anything material to gain by his 
cousin’s death. Otherwise the hypothesis presents no 
inherent improbabilities. The man was last seen alive 
at Hurst’s house. He was seen to enter it and he was 
never seen to leave it—we are still taking the facts as 


154 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


stated in the newspapers, remember—and it now ap- 
pears that he stands to benefit enormously by that 
man’s death.” 

“But,” I objected, ‘‘you are forgetting that, directly 
the man was missed Hurst and the servants together 
searched the entire house.” 

“Yes. What did they search for?” 

“Why, for Mr. Bellingham, of course.” 

“Exactly; for Mr. Bellingham. That is, for a living 
man. Now how do you search a house for a living man? 
You look in all the rooms. When you look in a room 
if he is there, you see him; if you do not see him, you 
assume that he is not there. You don’t look under the 
sofa or behind the piano, you don’t pull out large 
drawers or open cupboards. You just look into the 
rooms. That is what these people seem to have done. 
And they did not see Mr. Bellingham. Mr. Belling- 
ham’s corpse might have been stowed away out of sight 
in any one of the rooms that they looked into.” 

“That is a grim thought,” said Jervis; “but it is per- 
fectly true. There is no evidence that the man was 
not lying dead in the house at the very time of the 
search.” 

“But even so,” said I, “there was the body to be dis- 
posed of somehow. Now how could he possibly have 
got rid of the body without being observed?” 

“Ah!” said Thorndyke, “now we are touching on a 
point of crucial importance. If anyone should ever 
write a treatise on the art of murder—not an exhibition 
of literary fireworks like De Quincey’s, but a genuine 
working treatise—he might leave all other technical 
details to take care of themselves if he could describe 
some really practicable plan for disposing of the body. 
That is, and always has been, the great stumbling- 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED 155 


block to the murderer: to get rid of the body. The 
human body,” he continued, thoughtfully regarding his 
pipe, just as, in the days of my pupilage, he was wont 
to regard the black-board chalk, ‘‘is a very remarkable 
object. It presents a combination of properties, that 
make it singularly difficult to conceal permanently. It 
is bulky and of an awkward shape, it is heavy, it is 
completely incombustible, it is chemically unstable, and 
its decomposition yields great volumes of highly odor- 
ous gases, and it nevertheless contains identifiable struc- 
tures of the highest degree of permanence. It is ex- 
tremely difficult to preserve unchanged, and it is still 
more difficult completely to destroy. The essential per- 
manence of the human body is well shown in the classi- 
cal case of Eugene Aram; but a still more striking in- 
stance is that of Sekenen-Ra the Third, one of the last 
kings of the seventeenth Egyptian dynasty. Here, after 
a lapse of four thousand years, it has been possible to 
determine not only the cause of death and the manner 
of its occurrence, but the way in which the king fell, 
the nature of the weapon with which the fatal wound 
was inflicted, and even the position of the assailant. 
And the permanence of the body under other conditions 
is admirably shown in the case of Doctor Parkman, of 
Boston, U. S. A., in which identification was actually 
effected by means of remains collected from the ashes 
of a furnace.” 

“Then we may take it,” said Jervis, “that the world 
has not yet seen the last of John Bellingham.” 

“T think we may regard that as almost a certainty,” 
replied Thorndyke. ‘The only question—and a very 
important one—is as to when the reappearance may 
take place. It may be to-morrow or it may be cen- 


156 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


turies hence, when all the issues involved have been for- 
gotten.” 

“Assuming,” said I, “for the sake of argument, that 
Hurst did murder him and that the body was concealed 
in the study at the time the search was made. How 
could it have been disposed of? If you had been in 
Hurst’s place, how would you have gone to work?” 

Thorndyke smiled at the bluntness of my question. 

“You are asking me for an incriminating statement,” 
said he, “delivered in the presence of a witness too. 
But, as a matter of fact, there is no use in speculating 
a priori; we should have to reconstruct a purely imagi- 
nary situation, the circumstances of which are unknown 
to us, and we should almost certainly reconstruct it 
wrong. What we may fairly assume is that no reason- 
able person, no matter how immoral, would find him- 
self in the position that you suggest. Murder is usu- 
ally a crime of impulse, and the murderer a person of 
feeble self-control. Such persons are most unlikely 
to make elaborate and ingenious arrangements for the 
disposal of the bodies of their victims. Even the cold- 
blooded perpetrators of the most carefully planned mur- 
ders appear as I have said, to break down at this point. 
The almost insuperable difficulty of getting rid of the 
human body is not appreciated until the murderer sud- 
denly finds himself face to face with it. 

“In the case you are suggesting, the choice would 
seem to lie between burial on the premises or dismem- 
berment and dispersal of the fragments; and either 
method would be pretty certain to lead to discovery.” 

“As illustrated by the remains of which you were 
speaking to Mr. Bellingham,” Jervis remarked. 

__ “Exactly,” Thorndyke answered, “though we could 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED 157 


hardly imagine a reasonably intelligent criminal adopt- 
ing a watercress-bed as a hiding place. | 

“No. That was certainly an error of judgment. By 
the way, I thought it best to say nothing while you were 
talking to Bellingham, but I noticed that, in discussing 
the possibility of those being the bones of his brother, 
you made no comment on the absence of the third finger 
of the left hand. I am sure you didn’t overlook it, but 
isn’t it a point of some importance?” 

‘“‘As to identification? Under the present circum- 
‘stances, I think not. If there were a man missing who 
had lost that finger it would, of course, be an important 
fact. But I have not heard of any such man. Or, 
again, if there were any evidence that the finger had 
been removed before death, it would be highly im- 
portant. But there is no such evidence. It may have 
been cut off after death, and that is where the real sig- 
nificance of its absence lies.” 

“T don’t see quite what you mean,” said Jervis, 

“T mean that, if there is no report of any missing 
man who had lost that particular finger, the probability 
is that the finger was removed after death. And then 
arises the interesting question of motive. Why should 
it have been removed? It could hardly have be- 
come detached accidentally. What do you suggest?” 

“Well,” said Jervis, “it might have been a peculiar 
finger; a finger, for instance, with some characteris- 
tic deformity such as an ankylosed joint, which would 
be easy to identify.” 

“Ves; but that explanation introduces the same dif- 
ficulty. No person with a deformed or ankylosed finger 
has been reported as missing.” 

Jervis puckered up his brows, and looked at me. 


158 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T’m hanged if I see any other explanation,” he said. 
“Do you, Berkeley?” 

I shook my head. 

“Don’t forget which finger it is that is missing,” said 
Thorndyke. ‘The third finger of the left hand.” 

“Oh, I see!” said Jervis. “The ring-finger. You 
mean that it may have been removed for the sake of a 
ring that wouldn’t come off.” 

“Yes. It would not be the first instance of the kind. 
Fingers have been severed from dead hands—and even 
from living ones—for the sake of rings that were too 
tight to be drawn off. And the fact that it is the left 
hand supports the suggestion; for a ring that was in- 
conveniently tight would be worn by preference on the 
left hand, as that is usually slightly smaller than the 
right. What is the matter, Berkeley?” 

A sudden light had burst upon me, and I suppose my 
countenance betrayed the fact. 

“TI am a confounded fool!” I exclaimed. 

“Oh, don’t say that,” said Jervis. “Give your friends 
a chance.” 

“T ought to have seen this long ago and told you 
about it. John Bellingham did wear a ring, and it 
was so tight that, when once he had got it on, he could 
never get it off again.” 

“Do you happen to know on which hand he wore it?” 
Thorndyke asked. 

“Yes. It was on the left hand; because Miss Belling- 
ham, who told me about it, said that he would never 
have been able to get the ring on at all but for the 
fact that his left hand was slightly smaller than his 
right.” 

“There it is, then,” said Thorndyke. “With this new 
fact in our possession, the absence of the finger fur- 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED 159 


nishes the starting-point of some very curious specula- 
tions.” 

“As, for instance,” said Jervis. 

“Ah, under the circumstances, I must leave you to 
pursue those speculations independently. I am now 
acting for Mr. Bellingham.” 

_ Jervis grinned and was silent for a while, refilling his 
pipe thoughtfully; but when he had got it alight he re- 
sumed. 

“To return to the question of the disappearance; you 
don’t consider it highly improbable that Bellingham 
_might have been murdered by Hurst?” 

“Oh, don’t imagine I am making an accusation. I 
am considering the various probabilities merely in the 
abstract. The same reasoning applies to the Belling- 
hams. As to whether any of them did commit the mur- 
der, that is a question of personal character. I certainly 
do not suspect the Bellinghams after having seen them, 
and with regard to Hurst, I know nothing, or at least 
very little, to his disadvantage.” 

“Do you know anything?” asked Jervis. 

“Well,” Thorndyke said, with some hesitation, “it 
seems a thought unkind to rake up the little details of a 
man’s past, and yet it has to be done. I have, of 
course, made the usual routine inquiries concerning the 
parties to this affair, and this is what they have brought 
to light: 

“Hurst, as you know, is a stockbroker—a man of 
good position and reputation; but, about ten years ago, 
he seems to have committed an indiscretion, to put it 
mildly, which nearly got him into rather serious dif- 
ficulties. He appears to have speculated rather heavily 
and considerably beyond his means, for when a sudden 
spasm of the markets upset his calculations, it turned 


160 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


- out that he had been employing his clients’ capital and 
securities. For a time it looked as if there was going 
to be serious trouble; then, quite unexpectedly, he 
managed to raise the necessary amount in some way and 
settle all claims. Whence he got the money has never 
been discovered to this day, which is a curious circum- 
stance, seeing that the deficiency was rather over five 
thousand pounds; but the important fact is that he did 
get it and that he paid up all that he owed. So that he 
was only a potential defaulter, so to speak; and dis- 
creditable as the affair undoubtedly was, it does not 
seem to have any direct bearing on this present case.” 

“No,” Jervis agreed, “though it makes one con- 
sider his position with more attention than one would 
otherwise.” 

“Undoubtedly,” said Thorndyke. “A reckless gam- 
bler is a man whose conduct cannot be relied on. He 
is subject to vicissitudes of fortune which may force 
him into other kinds of wrong-doing. Many an em- 
bezzlement has been preceded by an unlucky plunge 
on the turf.” 

“Assuming the responsibility for this disappearance 
to lie between Hurst and—and the Bellinghams,” said 
I, with an uncomfortable gulp as I mentioned the names 
of my friends, “to which side does the balance of prob- 
ability incline?” 

“To the side of Hurst, I should say, without doubt,” 
replied Thorndyke. ‘The case stands thus—on the 
facts presented to us: Hurst appears to have had no 
motive for killing the deceased (as we will call him); 
but the man was seen to enter the house, was never 
seen to leave it, and was never again seen alive. Bel- 
lingham, on the other hand, had a motive, as he had 
believed himself to be the principal beneficiary under 


THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED 161 


the will. But the deceased was not seen at his house, 
and there is no evidence that he went to the house or 
to the neighborhood, excepting the scarab that was 
found there. But the evidence of the scarab is vitiated 
by the fact that Hurst was present when it was picked 
up, and that it was found on a spot over which Hurst 
had passed only a few minutes previously. Until Hurst 
is cleared, it seems to me that the presence of the 
scarab proves nothing against the Bellinghams.” 

“Then your opinions on the case,” said I, “are based 
entirely on the facts that have been made public?” 

“Yes, mainly. I do not necessarily accept those facts 
just as they are presented, and I may have certain views 
of my own on the case. But if I have, I do not feel in 
a position to discuss them. For the present, discussion 
has to be limited to the facts and inferences offered by 
the parties concerned.” 

“There!” exclaimed Jervis, rising to knock his pipe 
out, ‘that is where Thorndyke has you. He lets you 
think you’re in the thick of the ‘know’ until one fine 
morning you wake up and discover that you have only 
been a gaping outsider; and then you are mightily as- 
tonished—and so are the other side, too, for that mat- 
ter. But we must really be off now, mustn’t we, rever- 
end senior?” 

“T suppose we must,” replied Thorndyke; and, as he 
drew on his gloves, he asked: “Have you heard from 
Barnard lately?” 

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “I wrote to him at Smyrna 
to say that the practise was flourishing and that I was 
quite happy and contented, and that he might stay 
away as long as he liked. He writes by return that he 
will prolong his holiday if an opportunity offers, but 
will let me know later.” 


162 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Gad,” said Jervis, “it was a stroke of luck for 
Barnard that Bellingham happened to have such a mag- 
nificent daughter—there! don’t mind me, old man. 
You go in and win—she’s worth it, isn’t she, Thorn- 
dyke?” 

“Miss Bellingham’s a very charming young lady,” 
replied Thorndyke. ‘TI am most favorably impressed 
by both the father and the daughter, and I only trust 
that we may be able to be of some service to them.” 
With this sedate little speech Thorndyke shook my 
hand, and I watched my two friends go on their way 
until their fading shapes were swallowed up in the 
darkness of Fetter Lane. 


CHAPTER XII 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 


Ir was two or three mornings after my little supper 
party that, as I stood in the consulting-room brushing 
my hat preparatory to starting on my morning round, 
Adolphus appeared at the door to announce two gentle- 
men waiting in the surgery. I told him to bring them 
in, and a moment later Thorndyke entered, accom- 
panied by Jervis. I noted that they looked uncom- 
monly large in that little apartment, especially Thorn- 
dyke, but I had no time to consider this phenomenon, 
for the latter, when he had shaken my hand, proceeded 
at once to explain the object of their visit. 

“We have come to ask a favor, Berkeley,” he said; 
“to ask you to do us a very great service in the inter- 
ests of your friends the Bellinghams.” 

“You know I shall be delighted,” I said warmly. 
“What is it?” 

“T will explain. You know—or perhaps you don’t— 
that the police have collected all the bones that have 
been discovered and deposited them in the mortuary at 
Woodford, where they are to be viewed by the coroner’s 
jury. Now, it has become imperative that I should 
have more definite and reliable information than I can 
get from the newspapers. The natural thing for me 
would be to go down and examine them myself, but 
there are circumstances that make it very desirable 
that my connection with the case should not leak out. 

163 


164 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Consequently, I can’t go myself, and, for the same 
reason, I can’t send Jervis. On the other hand, as it 
is now stated pretty openly that the police consider the 
bones to be almost certainly those of John Bellingham, 
it would seem perfectly natural that you, as Godfrey 
Bellingham’s doctor, should go down to view them on 
his behalf.” 

“T should like to,” I said. “I would give anything 
to go; but how is it to be managed? It would mean 
a whole day off and leaving the practise to look after 
itself.” | 

“T think it could be managed,” said Thorndyke; “and 
the matter is really important for two reasons. One 
is that the inquest opens to-morrow, and some one cer- 

tainly ought to be there to watch the proceedings on 
_ Godfrey’s behalf; and the other is that our client has 
received notice from Hurst’s solicitors that the appiica: 
tion will be heard in the Probate Court in a few days.” 

“Isn’t that rather sudden?” I asked. 

“Tt certainly suggests that there has been a good 
deal more activity than we were given to understand. 
But you see the importance of the affair. The in- 
quest will be a sort of dress rehearsal for the Probate 
Court, and it is quite essential that we should have a 
chance of estimating the management.” 

“Yes, I see that. But how are we to manage about 
the practise?” 

“‘We shall find you a substitute.” 

“Through a medical agent?” 

“Yes,” said Jervis, ‘Turcival will find us a man; 
in fact, he has done it. I saw him this morning; he 
has a man who is waiting up in town to negotiate for 
the purchase of a practise and who would do the job 
for a couple of guineas. Quite a reliable man. Only 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 165 


say the word, and I will run off to Adam Street and en- 
gage him definitely.” 

“Very well. You engage the locum tenens, and I 
will be prepared to start for Woodford as soon as he 
turns up.” 

“Excellent!” said Thorndyke. “That is a great 
weight off my mind. And if you could manage to drop 
in this evening and smoke a pipe with us we could talk 
over the plan of campaign and let you know what items 
of information we are particularly in want of.” 

I promised to turn up at King’s Bench Walk as soon 
after half-past eight as possible, and my two friends 
then took their departure, leaving me to set out in high 
spirits on my scanty round of visits. 

It is surprising what different aspects things present 
from different points of view; how relative are our esti- 
mates of the conditions and circumstances of life. To 
the urban workman—the journeyman baker or tailor, 
for instance, laboring year in year out in a single build- 
ing—a holiday ramble on Hampstead Heath is a veri- 
table voyage of discovery; whereas to the sailor the 
shifting panorama of the whole wide world is but the 
commonplace of the day’s work. 

So I reflected as I took my place in the train at Liver- 
pool Street on the following day. There had been a 
time when a trip by rail to the borders of Epping Forest 
- would have been far from a thrilling experience; now, 
after vegetating in the little world of Fetter Lane, it 
was quite an adventure. 

The enforced inactivity of a railway journey is favor- 
able to thought, and I had much to think about. The 
last few weeks had witnessed momentous changes in my 
outlook. New interests had arisen, new friendships had 
grown up, and above all, there had stolen into my life 


166 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


that supreme influence that, for good or for evil, ac- 
cording to my fortune, was to color and pervade it even 
to its close. Those few days of companionable labor 
in the reading-room, with the homely hospitalities of the 
milk-shop and the pleasant walks homeward through 
the friendly London streets, had called into existence a 
new world—a world in which the gracious personality 
of Ruth Bellingham was the one dominating reality. 
And thus, as I leaned back in the corner of the rail- 
way carriage with an unlighted pipe in my hand, the 
events of the immediate past, together with those more 
problematical ones of the impending future, occupied 
me rather to the exclusion of the business of the mo- 
ment, which was to review the remains collected in the 
Woodford mortuary, until, as the train approached 
Stratford, the odors of the soap and bone-manure fac- 
tories poured in at the open window and (by a natural 
association of ideas) brought me back to the object of 
my quest. 

As to the exact purpose of this expedition, I was not 
very clear; but I knew that I was acting as Thorndyke’s 
proxy and thrilled with pride at the thought. But what 
particular light my investigations were to throw upon 
the intricate Bellingham case I had no very definite 
idea. With a view to fixing the procedure in my mind, 
I took Thorndyke’s written instructions from my 
pocket and read them over carefully. They were very 
full and explicit, making ample allowance for my lack 
of experience in medico-legal matters: — 


“rt. Do not appear to make minute yee ee 
or in any way excite remark. 

“>. Ascertain if all the bones belonging to each 
region are present, and if not, which are missing. 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 167 


“3. Measure the extreme length of the principal 
bones and compare those of opposite sides. 

‘4. Examine the bones with reference to age, sex, 
and muscular development of the deceased. 

“5. Note the presence or absence of signs of con- 
stitutional disease, local disease of bone or adjacent 
structures, old or recent injuries, and any other de- 
partures from the normal or usual. 

“6. Observe the presence or absence of adipocere 
and its position, if present. 

“7, Note any remains of tendons, ligaments or 
other soft structures. 

“8, Examine the Sidcup hand with reference to the 
question as to whether the finger was separated be- 
fore or after death. 

“9, Estimate the probable period of submersion 
and note any changes (as e.g., mineral or organic 
staining) due to the character of the water or mud. 

“to. Ascertain the circumstances (immediate and 
remote) that led to the discovery of the bones and 
the names of the persons concerned in those cir- 
cumstances. 

“tr. Commit all information to writing as soon as 
possible, and make plans and diagrams on the spot, 
if circumstances permit. 

“12, Preserve an impassive exterior: listen atten- 
tively but without eagerness; ask as few questions as 
possible; pursue any inquiry that your observations 
on the spot may suggest.” 


These were my instructions, and, considering that I 
was going merely to inspect a few dry bones, they ap- 
peared rather formidable; in fact, the more I read them 


168 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


over the greater became my misgivings as to my quali- 
fications for the task. 

As I approached the mortuary it became evident 
that some, at least, of Thorndyke’s admonitions were 
by no means unnecessary. The place was in charge of 
a police sergeant, who watched my approach suspi- 
ciously; and some half-dozen men, obviously newspaper 
reporters, hovered about the entrance like a pack of 
jackals. I presented the coroner’s order which Mr. 
Marchmont had obtained, and which the sergeant read 
with his back against the wall, to prevent the newspaper 
men from looking over his shoulder. 

My credentials being found satisfactory, the door was 
unlocked and I entered, accompanied by three enter- 
prising reporters, whom, however, the sergeant sum- 
marily ejected and locked out, returning to usher me 
into the presence and to observe my proceedings with 
intelligent but highly embarrassing interest. 

The bones were laid out on a large table and covered 
with a sheet, which the sergeant slowly turned back, 
watching my face intently as he did so to note the im- 
pression that the spectacle made upon me. I imagine 
that he must have been somewhat disappointed by my 
impassive deameanor, for the remains suggested to me 
nothing more than a rather shabby set of “student’s 
osteology.” The whole collection had been set out by 
the police surgeon (as the sergeant informed me) in 
their proper anatomical order; nowithstanding which I 
counted them over carefully to make sure that none 
were missing, checking them by the list with which 
Thorndyke had furnished me. 

“TI see you have found the left thigh-bone,” I re- 
marked, observing that this did not appear in the list. 

“Yes,” said the sergeant; “that turned up yester- 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 169 


day evening in a big pond called Baldwin’s Pond in 
the Sandpit plain, near Little Monk Wood.” 

“Is that near here?” I asked. 

“In the forest up Loughton way,” was the reply. 

I made a note of the fact (on which the sergeant 
looked as if he was sorry he had mentioned it), and 
then turned my attention to a general consideration of 
the bones before examining them in detail. Their ap- 
pearance would have been improved and examination 
facilitated by a thorough scrubbing, for they were just 
as they had been taken from their respective resting- 
places, and it was difficult to decide whether their red- 
dish-yellow color was an actual stain or due to a deposit 
on the surface. In any case, as it affected them all 
alike, I thought it an interesting feature and made a 
note of it. They bore numerous traces of their sojourn 
in the various ponds from which they had been re- 
covered, but these gave me little help in determining 
the length of time during which they had been sub- 
merged. ‘They were, of course, encrusted with mud, 
and little wisps of pond-weed stuck to them in places; 
but these facts furnished only the vaguest measure of 
time. 

Some of the traces were, indeed, more informing. To 
several of the bones, for instance, there adhered the 
dried egg-clusters of the common pond-snail, and in one 
of the hollows of the right shoulder-blade (the “infra- 
spinous fossa’) was a group of the mud-built tubes of 
the red river-worm. ‘These remains gave proof of a 
considerable period of submersion, and since they could 
not have been deposited on the bones until all the flesh 
had disappeared they furnished evidence that some 
time—a month or two at any rate—had elapsed since 
this had happened. Incidentally, too, their distribution 


170 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


showed the position in which the bones had lain, and 
though this appeared to be of no importance in the 
existing circumstances, I made careful notes of the situ- 
ation of each adherent body, illustrating their position 
by rough sketches, 

The sergeant watched my proceedings with an in- 
dulgent smile. 

“You’re making a regular inventory, sir,” he re- 
marked, “as if you were going to put ’em up for auc- 
tion. I shouldn’t think those snails’ eggs would be 
much help in identification. And all that has been 
done already,” he added as I produced my measuring- 
tape. P 
“No doubt,” I replied; ‘‘but my business is to make 
independent observations, to check the others, if neces- 
sary.” And I proceeded to measure each of the princi- 
pal bones separately and to compare those of the oppo- 
site sides. The agreement in dimensions and general 
characteristics of the pairs of bones left little doubt 
that all were parts of one skeleton, a conclusion that 
was confirmed by the eburnated patch on the head of 
the right thigh-bone and the corresponding patch in the 
socket of the right hip-bone. When I had finished my 
measurements I went over the entire series of bones in 
detail, examining each with the closest attention for any 
of those signs which Thorndyke had indicated, and 
eliciting nothing but a monotonously reiterated nega- 
tive. They were distressingly and disappointingly nor- 
mal. 

“Well, sir, what do you make of ’em?” the sergeant 
asked cheerfully as I shut up my notebook and straight- 
ened my back. ‘Whose bones are they? Are they Mr. 
‘Bellingham’s, think ye?” 

“T should be very sorry to say whose bones they are,” 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 47% 


I replied. “One bone is very much like another, you 
know.” 

“T suppose it is,” he agreed; ‘“‘but I thought that, 
with all that measuring and all those notes, you might 
have arrived at something definite.” Evidently he was 
disappointed in me; and I was somewhat disappointed 
in myself when I contrasted Thorndyke’s elaborate in- 
structions with the meager result of my investigations. 
For what did my discoveries amount to? And how 
much was the inquiry advanced by the few entries in 
my notebook? 

The bones were apparently those of a man of fair 
though not remarkable muscular development; over 
thirty years of age, but how much older I was unable 
to say. His height I judged roughly to be five feet 
eight inches, but my measurements would furnish data 
for a more exact estimate by Thorndyke. Beyond this 
the bones were quite uncharacteristic. There were no 
signs of disease either local or general, no indications 
of injuries either old or recent, no departures of any 
kind from the normal or usual; and the dismemberment 
had been effected with such care that there was not a 
single scratch on any of the separate surfaces. Of adi- 
pocere (the peculiar waxy or soapy substance that is 
commonly found in bodies that have slowly decayed in 
damp situations) there was not a trace; and the only 
remnant of the soft structures was a faint indication, 
like a spot of dried glue, of the tendon on the tip of the 
right elbow. 

The sergeant was in the act at replacing the sheet, 
with the air of a showman who has just given an exhi- 
bition, when there came a sharp rapping on the mortu- 
ary door. The officer finished spreading the sheet with 
official precision, and having ushered me out into the 


172 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


lobby turned the key and admitted three persons, hold- 
ing the door open after they had entered for me to 
go out. But the appearance of the newcomers in- 
clined me to linger. One of them was a local constable, 
evidently in official charge; a second was a laboring 
man, very wet and muddy, who carried a small sack; 
while in the third I thought I scented a professional 
brother. 

The sergeant continued to hold the door open. 

“Nothing more I can do for you, sir?” he asked 
genially. 

“Ts that the divisional surgeon?” I inquired. 

“Yes. I am the divisional surgeon,” the newcomer 
answered. ‘Did you want anything of me?” 

“This,” said the sergeant, “is a medical gentleman 
who has got permission from the coroner to inspect the 
remains. He is acting for the family of the deceased— 
I mean, for the family of Mr. Bellingham,” he added in 
answer to an inquiring glance from the surgeon. 

“T see,” said the latter. ‘Well, they have found the 
rest of the trunk, including, I understand, the ribs that 
were missing from the other part. Isn’t that so, 
Davis?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the constable. “Inspector Badger 
says all the ribs is here, and all the bones of the neck 
as well.” 

“The inspector seems to be an anatomist,” I re- 
marked. 

The sergeant grinned. ‘He is a very knowing gentle- 
man, is Mr. Badger. He came down here this morning 
quite early and spent a long time looking over the bones 
and checking them by some notes in his pocket-book. I 
fancy he’s got something on, but he was precious close 
about it.” 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 173 


Here the sergeant shut up rather suddenly—perhaps 
contrasting his own conduct with that of his superior. 

“Let us have these new bones out on the table,”’ said 
the police surgeon. ‘‘Take the sheet off, and don’t shoot 
them out as if they were coals. Hand them out care- 
fully.” 

The laborer fished out the wet and muddy bones one 
by-one from the sack, and as he laid them on the table 
the surgeon arranged them in their proper relative posi- 
tions. 

“This has been a neatly executed job,” he remarked; 
“none of your clumsy hacking with a chopper or a saw. 
The bones have been cleanly separated at the joints. 
The fellow who did this must have had some anatomical 
knowledge, unless he was a butcher, which by the way, 
is not impossible. He has used his knife uncommonly 
skilfully, and you notice that each arm was taken off 
with the scapula attached, just as a butcher takes off 
a shoulder of mutton, Are there any more bones in 
that bag?” 

“No, sir,”’ replied the laborer, wiping his hands with 
an air of finality on the posterior aspect of his trou- 
sers; “that’s the lot.” 

The surgeon looked thoughtfully at the bones as he 
gave a final touch to their arrangement, and remarked: 

“The inspector is right. All the bones of the neck 
are there. Very odd. Don’t you think so?” 

“You mean " 

“T mean that this very eccentric murderer seems to 
have given himself such an extraordinary amount of 
trouble for no reason that one can see. There are these 
neck vertebre, for instance. He must have carefully 
separted the skull from the atlas instead of just cutting 
through the neck. Then there is the way he divided 





174 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


the trunk; the twelfth ribs have just come in with this 
lot, but the twelfth dorsal vertebra to which they be- 
long was attached to the lower half. Imagine the 
trouble he must have taken to do that, and without 
cutting or hacking the bones about, either, It is ex- 
traordinary. This is rather interesting, by the way. 
Handle it carefully.” 

He picked up the breast-bone daintily—for it was 
covered with wet mud—and handed it to me with the 
remark: 

“That is the most definite piece of evidence we have.” 

‘“‘You mean,” I said, ‘‘that the union of the two parts 
into a single mass fixes this as the skeleton of an elderly 
man?” 

“Ves, that is the obvious suggestion, which is con- 
firmed by the deposit of bone in the rib-cartilages. You 
can tell the inspector, Davis, that I have checked this 
lot of bones and that they are all here.” 

“Would you mind writing it down, sir?” said the 
constable. ‘Inspector Badger said I was to have every- 
thing in writing.” 

The surgeon took out his pocket-book, and, while he 
was selecting a suitable piece of paper, he asked: ‘Did 
you form any opinion as to the height of the deceased?” 

“Ves, I thought he would be about five feet eight” 
(here I caught the sergeant’s eyes, fixed on me with a 
knowing leer). 

“T made it five eight and a half,” said the police sur- 
geon; “but we shall know better when we have seen the 
lower leg-bones. Where was this lot found, Davis?” 

“In the pond just off the road in Lord’s Bushes, sir, 
and the inspector has gone off now to——” 

‘“‘Never mind where he’s gone,” interrupted the ser- 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 175 


geant. “You just answer questions and attend to your 
business.” 

The sergeant’s reproof conveyed a hint to me on 
which I was not slow to act. Friendly as my profes- 
sional colleague was, it was clear that the police were 
disposed to treat me as an interloper who was to be 
kept out of the “know” as far as possible. Accordingly 
I thanked my colleague and the sergeant for their cour- 
tesy, and bidding them adieu until we should meet at 
the inquest, took my departure and walked away 
quickly until I found an inconspicuous position from 
which I could keep the door of the mortuary in view. 
A few moments later I saw Constable Davis emerge 
and stride away up the road. 

I watched his rapidly diminishing figure until he had 
gone as far as I considered desirable, and then I set 
forth in his wake. The road led straight away from the 
village, and in less than half a mile entered the outskirts 
of the forest. Here I quickened my pace to close up 
somewhat, and it was well that I did so, for suddenly 
he diverged from the road into a green lane, where for 
a while I lost sight of him. Still hurrying forward, L 
again caught sight of him just as he turned off into a 
narrow path that entered a beech wood with a thickish 
undergrowth of holly, along which I followed him for 
several minutes, gradually decreasing the distance be- 
tween us, until suddenly there fell on my ear a rhythmi- 
cal sound like the clank of a pump. Soon after I 
caught the sound of men’s voices, and then the con- 
stable struck off the path into the wood. 

I now advanced more cautiously, endeavoring to lo- 
cate the search party by the sound of the pump, and 
when I had done this I made a little detour so that I 


176 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


might approach from the opposite direction to that from 
which the constable had appeared. 

Still guided by the noise of the pump, I at length 
came out into a small opening among the trees and 
halted to survey the scene. The center of the opening 
was occupied by a small pond, not more than a dozen 
yards across, by the side of which stood a builder’s 
handcart. The little two-wheeled vehicle had evidently 
been used to convey the appliances which were de- 
posited on the ground near it, and which consisted of 
a large tub—now filled with water—a shovel, a rake, a 
sieve, and a portable pump, the latter being fitted with 
a long delivery hose. There were three men besides 
the constable, one of whom was working the handle of 
the pump, while another was glancing at a paper that 
the constable had just delivered to him. He looked 
up sharply as I appeared, and viewed me with uncon- 
cealed disfavor. 

“Hallo, sir!”’ said he. ‘You can’t come here.” 

Now, seeing that I was actually here, this was clearly 
a mistake, and I ventured to point out the fallacy. 

“Well, I can’t allow you to stay here. Our business 
is of a private nature.” 

“I know exactly what your business is, Inspector 
Badger.” 

“Oh, do you?” said he, surveying me with a foxy 
smile. “And I expect I know what yours is, too. But 
we can’t have any of you newspaper gentry spying on us 
just at present, so you just be off.” 

I thought it best to undeceive him at once, and ac- 
cordingly, having explained who I was, I showed him 
the coroner’s permit, which he read with manifest an- 
noyance. 

“This is all very well, sir,” said he as he handed me 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 177 


back the paper, “but it doesn’t authorize you to come 
spying on the proceedings of the police. Any remains 
that we discover will be deposited in the mortuary, 
where you can inspect them to your heart’s content; but 
you can’t stay here and watch us.” 

I had no defined object in keeping a watch on the 
inspector’s proceedings; but the sergeant’s indiscreet 
hint had aroused my curiosity, which was further ex- 
cited by Mr. Badger’s evident desire to get rid of me.. 
Moreover, while we had been talking, the pump had 
stopped (the muddy floor of the pond being now pretty 
fully exposed), and the inspector’s assistant was 
handling the shovel impatiently. 

“Now I put it to you, Inspector,” said I, persuasively, 
“is it politic of you to allow it to be said that you re- 
fused an authorized representative of the family facili- 
ties for verifying any statements that you may make 
hereafter?” | 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“T mean that if you should happen to find some bone 
which could be identified as part of the body of Mr. 
Bellingham, that fact would be of more importance to 
his family than to anyone else. You know that there 
is a very valuable estate and a rather difficult will.” 

“T didn’t know it, and I don’t see the bearing of it 
now” (neither did I for that matter); ‘but if you make 
such a point of being present at the search, I can’t 
very well refuse. Only you mustn’t get in our way, 
that’s all.” 

On hearing this conclusion, his assistant, who looked 
like a plain-clothes officer, took up his shovel and 
stepped into the mud that formed the bottom of the 
pond, stooping as he went and peering among the 
masses of weed that had been left stranded by the with- 


178 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


drawal of the water. The inspector watched him 
anxiously, cautioning him from time to time to “look 
out where he was treading’’; the laborer left the pump 
and craned forward from the margin of the mud, and 
the constable and I looked on from our respective points 
of vantage. For some time the search was fruitless. 
Once the searcher stooped and picked up what turned 
out to be a fragment of decayed wood; then the re- 
mains of a long-deceased jay were discovered, ex- 
amined, and rejected. Suddenly the man bent down 
by the side of a small pool that had been left in one 
of the deeper hollows, stared intently into the mud, and 
stood up. 

“‘There’s something here that looks like a bone, sir,” 
he sang out. 

“Don’t grub about then,” said the inspector. ‘Drive 
your shovel right into the mud where you saw it and 
bring it to the sieve.” 

The man followed out these instructions, and as he 
came shoreward with a great pile of the slimy mud on 
his shovel we all converged on the sieve, which the in- 
spector took up and held over the tub, directing the con- 
stable and laborer to “lend a hand,” meaning thereby 
that they were to crowd round the tub and exclude me 
as completely as possible. This, in fact, they did very 
effectively with his assistance, for, when the shovel- 
ful of mud had been deposited on the sieve, the four 
men leaned over it and so nearly hid it from view 
that it was only by craning over, first on one side and 
then on the other, that I was able to catch an occasional 
glimpse of it and to observe it gradually melting away 
as the sieve, immersed in the water, was shaken to and 
fro. | 

Presently the inspector raised the sieve from the 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 179 


water and stooped over it more closely to examine its 
contents. Apparently the examination yielded no very 
conclusive results, for it was accompanied by a series 
of rather dubious grunts. : 

At length the officer stood up, and turning to me with 
a genial but foxy smile, held out the sieve for my in- 
spection. 

“Like to see what we have found, doctor?” said he. 

I thanked him and stood over the sieve. It con- 
tained the sort of litter of twigs, skeleton leaves, weed, 
pond-snails, dead shells, and fresh-water mussels that 
one would expect to strain out from the mud of an 
ancient pond; but in addition to these there were three 
small bones which at first glance gave me quite a start 
until I saw what they were. 

The inspector looked at me inquiringly. ‘H’m?” 
said he. 

“Yes,” I replied. “Very interesting.” 

“Those will be human bones, I fancy; h’m?” 

“T should say so undoubtedly,” I answered. 

“Now,” said the inspector, “could you say, offhand, 
which finger those bones belong to?” 

I smothered a grin (for I had been expecting this 
question), and answered: 

“TJ can say offhand that they don’t belong to any 
finger. They are the bones of the left great toe.” 

The inspector’s jaw dropped. 

“The deuce they are!” he muttered. “H’m. I 
thought they looked a bit stout.” 

“T expect,” said I, “that if you go through the mud 
close to where this came from you’! find the rest of the 
foot.” 

The plain-clothes man proceeded at once to act on my 
suggestion, taking the sieve with him to save time. And 


180 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


sure enough, after filling it twice with the mud from the 
bottom of the pool, the entire skeleton of the foot was 
brought to light. 

“Now you're happy, I suppose,” said the inspector 
when I had checked the bones and found them all 
present. 

“T should be more happy,” I replied, “if I knew what 
you were searching for in this pond. You weren’t look- 
ing for the foot, were you?” 

“T was looking for anything that I might find,” he 
answered. “I shall go on searching until we have 
the whole body. I shall go through all the streams and 
ponds around here, excepting Connaught Water. That 
I shall leave to the last, as it will be a case of dredging 
from a boat and isn’t so likely as the smaller ponds. 
Perhaps the head will be there; it’s deeper than any 
of the others.” 

It now occurred to me that as I had learned all that 
I was likely to learn, which was little enough, I might 
as well leave the inspector to pursue his researches 
unembarrassed by my presence. Accordingly I thanked 
him for his assistance and departed by the way I had 
come. 

But as I retraced my steps along the shady path I 
speculated profoundly on the officer’s proceedings. My 
examinations of the mutilated hand had yielded the 
conclusion that the finger had been removed after death 
or shortly before, but more probably after. Some one 
else had evidently arrived at the same conclusion, and 
had communicated his opinion to Inspector Badger; 
for it was clear that that gentleman was in full cry 
after the missing finger. But why was he searching 
for it here when the hand had been found at Sidcup? 
And what did he expect to learn from it when he found 


A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 181 


it? There is nothing particularly characteristic about 
a finger, or, at least, the bones of one; and the object 
of the present researches was to determine the identity 
of the person of whom these bones were the remains. 
There was something mysterious about the affair, some- 
thing suggesting that Inspector Badger was in posses- 
sion of private information of some kind. But what 
information could he have? And whence could he 
have obtained it? These were questions to which I 
could find no answer, and I was still fruitlessly re- 
volving them when I arrived at the modest inn where 
the inquest was to be held, and where I proposed to for- 
tify myself with a correspondingly modest lunch as a 
preparation for my attendance at the inquiry. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CORONER’S QUEST 


THE proceedings of that fine old institution, the cor- 
oner’s court, are apt to have their dignity impaired by 
the somewhat unjudicial surroundings amidst which 
they are conducted. The present inquiry was to be 
held in a long room attached to the inn, ordinarily de- 
voted, as its various appurtenances testified, to gather- 
ings of a more convivial character. 

Hither I betook myself after a protracted lunch and 
a meditative pipe, and being the first to arrive—the 
jury having already been sworn and conducted to the 
mortuary to view the remains—whiled away the time 
by considering the habits of the customary occupants 
of the room by the light of the objects contained in 
it. A wooden target with one or two darts sticking in 
it hung on the end wall and invited the Robin Hoods 
of the village to try their skill; a system of incised 
marks on the oaken table made sinister suggestions of 
shove-halfpenny; and a large open box filled with white 
wigs, gaudily colored robes and wooden spears, swords 
and regalia, crudely coated with gilded paper, obviously 
appertained to the puerile ceremonials of the Order of 
Druids. 

I had exhausted the interest of these relics and had 
transferred my attentions to the picture gallery when 
the other spectators and the witnesses began to arrive. 
Hastily I seated myself in the only comfortable chair 

182 


THE CORONER’S QUEST 183 


beside the one placed at the head of the table, pre- 
sumably for the coroner; and I had hardly done so 
when the latter entered accompanied by the jury. Im- 
mediately after them came the sergeant, Inspector 
Badger, one or two plain-clothés men, and finally the 
divisional surgeon. 

The coroner took his seat at the head of the table 
and opened his book, and the jury seated themselves 
on a couple of benches on one side of the long table. 

I looked with some interest at the twelve “good men 
and true.” They were a representative group of British 
tradesmen, quiet, attentive, and rather solemn; but my 
attention was particularly attracted by a small man 
with a very large head and a shock of upstanding hair 
whom I had diagnosed, after a glance at his intelligent 
but truculent countenance and the shiny knees of his 
trousers, as the village cobbler. He sat between the 
broad-shouldered foreman, who looked like a black- 
smith, and a dogged, red-faced man whose general 
aspect of prosperous greasiness suggested the calling of 
a butcher. 

“The inquiry, gentlemen,” the coroner commenced, 
“upon which we are now entering concerns itself with 
two questions. The first is that of identity: who was 
this person whose body we have just viewed? ‘The 
second is: How, when, and by what means did he come 
by his death? We will take the identity first and be- 
gin with the circumstances under which the body was 
discovered.” 

Here the cobbler stood up and raised an excessively 
dirty hand. 

“T rise, Mr. Chairman,” said he, “to a point of 
order.” The other jurymen looked at him curiously and 
some of them, I regret to say, grinned. “You have 


184 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


referred, sir,” he continued, “to the body which we 
have just viewed. I wish to point out that we have not 
viewed a body; we have viewed a collection of bones.” 

“We will refer to them as the remains, if you prefer 
it,”’ said the coroner. 

“I do prefer it,” was the reply, and the objector sat 
down. 

“Very well,’ rejoined the coroner, and he proceeded 
to call the witnesses, of whom the first was a laborer 
who had discovered the bones in the watercress-bed. 

“Do you happen to know how long it was since the 
watercress-beds had been cleaned out previously?” the 
coroner asked, when the witness had told the story of 
the discovery. 

“They was cleaned out by Mr. Tapper’s orders just 
before he gave them up. That will be a little better 
than two years ago. In May it were. I helped to clean 
‘em. I worked on this very same place and there wasn’t 
no bones there then.” 

The coroner glanced at the jury. “Any questions, 
gentlemen,” he asked. 

The cobbler directed an intimidating scowl at the 
witness and demanded: 

“Were you searching for bones when you came on 
these remains?” 

“Me!” exclaimed the witness. ‘What should I be 
searching for bones for?” 

“Don’t prevaricate,” said the cobbler sternly; “an- 
swer the question: Yes or no.” 

“No, of course I wasn’t.” 

The juryman shook his enormous head dubiously as 
though implying that he would let it pass this time but 
it mustn’t happen again; and the examination of the 
witnesses continued, without eliciting anything that was 


THE CORONER’S QUEST 185 


new to me or giving rise to any incident, until the ser- 
geant had described the finding of the right arm in the 
Cuckoo Pits. 

“Was this an accidental discovery?” the coroner 
asked. 

“No. We had instructions from Scotland Yard to 
search any likely ponds in this neighborhood.”’ 

The coroner discreetly forbore to press this matter 
any further, but my friend the cobbler was evidently 
on the qui vive, and I anticipated a brisk cross- 
examination for Mr. Badger when his turn came. The 
inspector was apparently of the same opinion, for I saw 
him cast a glance of the deepest malevolence at the too 
inquiring disciple of St. Crispin. In fact, his turn came 
next, and the cobbler’s hair stood up with unholy joy. 

The finding of the lower half of the trunk in Staple’s 
Pond at Loughton was the inspector’s own achievement, 
but he was not boastful about it. The discovery, he re- 
marked, followed naturally on the previous one in the 
Cuckoo Pits. 

“Had you any private information that led you to 
search this particular neighborhood?” the cobbler 
asked. _ 

“We had no private information whatever,” replied 
Badger. 

“Now I put it to you,” pursued the juryman, shaking 
a forensic, and very dirty, forefinger at the inspector; 
“here are certain remains found at Sidcup; here are 
certain other remains found at St. Mary Cray, and cer- 
tain others at Lee. All those places are in Kent. Now 
isn’t it very remarkable that you should come straight 
down to Epping Forest, which is in Essex, and search 
for those bones and find ’em?” 


186 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“We were making a systematic search of all likely 
places,” replied Badger. 

“Exactly,” said the cobbler, with a ferocious grin, 
“that’s just my point. I say, isn’t it very funny that, 
after finding the remains in Kent some twenty miles 
from here, with the River Thames between, you should 
come here to look for the bones and go straight to 
Staple’s Pond, where they happen to be—and find 
em?” 

“Tt would have been more funny,” Badger replied 
sourly, ‘if we’d gone straight to a place where they 
happened mot to be—and found them.” 

A gratified snigger arose from the other eleven good 
men and true, and the cobbler grinned savagely; but 
before he could think of a suitable rejoinder the coroner 
interposed. 

“The question is not very material,” he said, ‘‘and 
we mustn’t embarrass the police by unnecessary in- 
quiries.” 

“Tt’s my belief,” said the cobbler, “that he knew they 
were there all the time.” 

“The witness has stated that he had no private infor- 
mation,” said the coroner; and he proceeded to take 
the rest of the inspector’s evidence, watched closely by 
the critical juror. 

The account of the finding of the remains having 
been given in full, the police surgeon was called and 
sworn; the jurymen straightened their backs with an 
air of expectancy, and I turned over a page of my note- 
book. 

“You have examined the bones at present lying in 
the mortuary and forming the subject of this inquiry?” 
the coroner asked, 

“T have.” 


THE CORONER’S QUEST 187 


“Will you kindly tell us what you have observed?”’ 

“T find that the bones are human bones, and are, in 
my opinion, all parts of the same person. They form a 
skeleton which is complete with the exception of the 
skull, the third finger of the left hand, the knee-caps, 
and the leg-bones—I mean the bones between the knees 
and the ankles.” 

“Is there anything to account for the absence of the 
missing finger?” | 

“No. There is no deformity and no sign of its having 
been amputated during life. In my opinion it was re-_ 
moved after death.” 

“Can you give us any description of the deceased?” 

“TI should say that these are the bones of an elderly 
man, probably over sixty years of age, about five feet 
eight and a half inches in height, of rather stout build, 
fairly muscular, and well preserved. There are no 
signs of disease excepting some old-standing rheumatic 
gout of the right hip-joint.”’ 

“Can you form any opinion as to the cause of death?” 

“No. ‘There are no marks of violence or signs of 
injury. But it will be impossible to form any opinion 
as to the cause of death until we have seen the skull.” 

“Did you note anything else of importance?”’ 

“Yes. I was struck by the appearance of anatomical 
knowledge and skill on the part of the person who dis- 
membered the body. The knowledge of anatomy is 
proved by the fact that the corpse has been divided 
into definite anatomical regions. For instance, the 
bones of the neck are complete and include the top joint 
of the backbone known as the atlas; whereas a person 
without anatomical knowledge would probably take off 
the head by cutting through the neck. Then the arms 
have been separated with the scapula (or shoulder- 


188 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


blade) and clavicle (or collar-bone) attached, just as 
an arm would be removed for dissection, 

“The skill is shown by the neat way in which the 
dismemberment has been carried out. The parts have 
not been rudely hacked asunder, but have been sepa- 
rated at the joints so skilfully that I have not discov- 
ered a single scratch or mark of the knife on any of the 
bones.” | 

“Can you suggest any class of person who would be 
likely to possess the knowledge and skill to which you 
refer?” 

“Tt would, of course, be possessed by a surgeon or 
medical student, and possibly by a butcher.” 

“You think that the person who dismembered this 
body may have been a surgeon or a medical student?” 

“Yes; or a butcher. Some one accustomed to the 
dismemberment of bodies ard skilful with the knife.” 

Here the cobbler suddenly rose to his feet. 

“T rise, Mr. Chairman,” said he, “to protest against 
the statement that has just been made.” 

“What statement?” demanded the coroner. 

“‘Against the aspersion,” continued the cobbler, with 
an oratorical flourish, “that has been cast upon a honor- 
able calling.” 

“TI don’t understand you,” said the coroner. 

“Doctor Summers has insinuated that this murder 
was committed by a butcher. Now a member of that 
honorable calling is sitting on this jury: i: 

“You let me alone,” growled the butcher. 

“T will not let you alone,” persisted the cobbler. “I 
desire———”’ | 

“Oh, shut up, Pope!” This was from the foreman, 
who, at the same moment, reached out an enormous 
hairy hand with which he grabbed the cobbler’s coat- 





THE CORONER’S QUEST 189 


tails and brought him into a sitting posture with a 
thump that shook the room. 

But Mr. Pope, though seated, was not silenced. “I 
desire,” he said, “‘to have my protest put on record.” 

“T can’t do that,” said the coroner, “and I can’t allow 
you to interrupt the witnesses.” 

“TI am acting,” said Mr, Pope, ‘in the interests of my 
friend here and the members of a honorable——” 

But here the butcher turned on him savagely, and, 
in a hoarse stage-whisper, exclaimed: 

“Look here, Pope; you’ve got too much of what the 
cat licks ———” 

“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” the coroner protested 
sternly; “I cannot permit this unseemly conduct. You 
are forgetting the solemnity of the occasion and your 
own responsible positions. I must insist on more decent 
and decorous behavior.” 

There was profound silence, in the midst of which 
the butcher concluded in the same hoarse whisper: 

“licks ’er paws with.” 

The coroner cast a withering glance at him, and, 
turning to the witness, resumed the examination. 

“Can you tell us, Doctor, how long a time has elapsed 
since the death of the deceased?” 

“T should say not less than eighteen months, but 
probably nore. How much more it is impossible from 
inspection alone to say. The bones are perfectly clean 
—that is, clean of all soft structures—and will remain 
substantially in their present condition for many 
years.” 

“The evidence of the man who found the remains in 
the watercress-bed suggests that they could not have 
been there for more than two years. Do the appear- 
ances in your opinion agree with that view?” 


190 - THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Yes; perfectly.” 

‘“‘There is one more point, Doctor; a very important 
one. Do you find anything in any of the bones, or all 
of them together, which would enable you to identify 
them as the bones of any particular individual?” 

“No,” replied Dr. Summers; “TI found no peculiarity 
that could furnish the means of personal identification.” 

“The description of a missing individual has been 
given to us,” said the coroner; ‘‘a man, fifty-nine years 
of age, five feet eight inches in height, healthy, well 
preserved, rather broad in build, and having an old 
Pott’s fracture of the left ankle. Do the remains that 
you have examined agree with that description?” 

“Yes, so far as agreement is possible. There is no 
disagreement.” 

“The remains might be those of that individual?” 

“They might; but there is no positive evidence that 
they are. The description would apply to a large pro- 
portion of elderly men, except as to the fracture.” 

“You found no signs of such a fracture?” 

“No. Pott’s fracture affects the bone called the 
fibula. That is one of the bones that has not yet been 
found, so there is no evidence on that point. The left 
foot was quite normal, but then it would be in any case, 
unless the fracture had resulted in great deformity.” 

“You estimated the height of the deceased as half 
an inch greater than that of the missing person. Does 
that constitute a disagreement?” 

“No; my estimate is only approximate. As the arms 
are complete and the legs are not, I have based my cal- 
culations on the width across the two arms. But 
measurement of the thigh-bones gives the same result. 
The length of the thigh-bones is one foot seven inches 
and five-eighths.” 


THE CORONER’S QUEST 191 


“So the deceased might not have been taller than five 
feet eight?” 

“That is so; from five feet eight to five feet nine.” 

“Thank you. I think that is all we want to ask you, 
Doctor; unless the jury wish to”’put any questions.” 

He glanced uneasily at that august body, and in- 
stantly the irrepressible Pope rose to the occasion. 

“About that finger that is missing,” said the cobbler. 
“You say that it was cut off after death?” 

“That is my opinion.” 

“Now can you tell us why it was cut off?” 

“No, I cannot.” 

“Oh, come now, Doctor Summers, you must have 
formed some opinion on the subject.” 

Here the coroner interposed. “The Doctor is only 
concerned with the evidence arising out of the actual 
examination of the remains. Any personal opinions or 
conjectures that he may have formed are not evidence, 
and he must not be asked about them.” 

“But, sir,” objected Pope, “we want to know why 
that finger was cut off. It couldn’t have been took off 
for no reason. May I ask, sir, if the person who is 
missing had anything peculiar about that finger?” 

“Nothing is stated to that effect in the written de- 
scription,” replied the coroner. 

“Perhaps,” suggested Pope, ‘‘Inspector Badger can 
tell us.” 

“JT think,” said the coroner, ‘“‘we had better not ask 
the police too many questions. They will tell us any- 
thing that they wish to be made public.” 

“Oh, very well,” snapped the cobbler. “If it’s a 
matter of hushing it up I’ve got no more to say; only I 
don’t see how we are to arrive at a verdict if we #on’t 
have the facts put before us.” 


192 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


All the witnesses having now been examined, the 
coroner proceeded to sum up and address the jury. 

“You have heard the evidence, gentlemen, of the 
various witnesses, and you will have perceived that it 
does not enable us to answer either of the questions that 
form the subject of this inquiry. We now know that 
the deceased was an elderly man, about sixty years of 
age, and about five feet eight to nine in height; and 
that his death took place from eighteen months to two 
years ago. That is all we know. From the treatment 
to which the body has been subjected we may form con- 
jectures as to the circumstances of his death. But we 
have no actual knowledge. We do not know who the 
deceased was or how he came by his death. Conse- 
quently, it will be necessary to adjourn this inquiry 
until fresh facts are available, and as soon as that is 
the case, you will receive due notice that your attend- 
ance is required.” 

The silence of the Court gave place to the confused 
noise of moving chairs and a general outbreak of eager 
talk amidst which I rose and made my way out into the 
street. At the door I encountered Dr. Summers, whose 
dog-cart was waiting close by. 

“Are you going back to town now?’” he asked. 

“Yes,” I answered; “‘as soon as I can catch a train.” 

“Tf you jump into my cart I’ll run you down in time 
for the five-one. You'll miss it if you walk.” 

I accepted his offer thankfully, and a minute later 
was spinning briskly down the road to the station. 

“Queer little devil, that man Pope,’ Dr. Summers 
remarked. “Quite a character; a socialist, laborite, 
agitator, general crank; anything for a row.” 

“Yes,” I answered; “that was what his appearance 


THE CORONER’S QUEST 193 


suggested. It must be trying for the coroner to get a 
truculent rascal like that on a jury.” 

Summers laughed. “I don’t know. He supplies the 
comic relief. And then, you know, those fellows have 
their uses. Some of his questions were pretty perti- 
nent,” 

“So Badger seemed to think.” 

“Yes, by Jove,” chuckled Summers. “Badger didn’t 
like him a bit; and I suspect the worthy inspector was 
sailing pretty close to the wind in his answers.”’ 

“You think he really has some private information?” 

“Depends upon what you mean by ‘information.’ 
The police are not a speculative body. They wouldn’t 
be taking all this trouble unless they had a pretty 
straight tip from somebody. How are Mr, and Miss 
Bellingham? I used to know them when they lived 
here.” 

I was considering a discreet answer to this question 
when we swept into the station yard. At the same 
moment the train drew up at the platform, and, with a 
hurried hand-shake and hastily spoken thanks, I sprang 
from the dog-cart and darted into the station. 

During the rather slow journey homeward I read 
over my notes and endeavored to extract from the facts 
they set forth some significance other than that which 
lay on the surface, but without much success. Then I 
fell to speculating on what Thorndyke would think of 
the evidence at the inquest and whether he would be 
satisfied with the information that I had collected. 
These speculations lasted me, with occasional digres- 
sions, until I arrived at the Temple and ran up the 
stairs rather eagerly to my friends’ chambers. 

But here a disappointment awaited me. ‘The nest 
was empty with the exception of Polton, who appeared 


194 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


at the laboratory door in his white apron, with a pair of 
flat-nosed pliers in his hands. 

“The Doctor had to go down to Bristol to consult 
over an urgent case,” he explained, “‘and Doctor Jervis 
has gone with him. They’ll be away a day or two, I 
expect, but the Doctor left this note for you.” 

He took a letter from the shelf, where it had been 
stood conspicuously on edge, and handed it to me. It 
was a short note from Thorndyke apologizing for his 
sudden departure and asking me to give Polton my 
notes with any comments that I had to make. 

“You will be interested to learn,” he added, “that the 
application will be heard in the Probate Court the day 
after to-morrow. I shall not be present, of course, nor 
will Jervis, so I should like you to attend and keep your 
eyes open for anything that may happen during the 
hearing and that may not appear in the notes that 
Marchmont’s clerk will be instructed to take. I have 
retained Dr. Payne to stand by and help you with the 
practise, so that you can attend the Court with a clear 
conscience.” 

This was highly flattering and quite atoned for the 
small disappointment; with deep gratification at the 
trust that Thorndyke had reposed in me, I pocketed 
the letter, handed my notes to Polton, wished him 
“‘Good-evening,” and betook myself to Fetter Lane. 


CHAPTER XIV 


WHICH CARRIES THE READER INTO THE PROBATE COURT 


THE Probate Court wore an air of studious repose 
when I entered with Miss Bellingham and her father. 
Apparently the great and inquisitive public had not be- 
come aware of the proceedings that were about to take 
place, or had not realized their connection with the sen- 
sational “Mutilation Case”; but barristers and Press- 
men, better informed, had gathered in some strength, 
and the hum of their conversation filled the air like the 
droning of the voluntary that ushers in a cathedral 
service. 

As we entered, a pleasant-faced, elderly gentleman 
rose and came forward to meet us, shaking Mr. Belling- 
ham’s hand cordially and saluting Miss Bellingham with 
a courtly bow. 

“This is Mr. Marchmont, Doctor,” said the former, 
introducing me; and the solicitor, having thanked me 
fo. the trouble I had taken in attending at the inquest, 
led us to a bench, at the farther end of which was 
seated a gentleman whom I recognized as Mr. Hurst. 

Mr. Bellingham recognized him at the same moment 
and glared at him wrathfully. 

“T see that scoundrel is here!” he exclaimed in a 
distinctly audible voice, “pretending that he doesn’t see 
me, because he is ashamed to look me in the face, 
but——” 

“Hush! hush! my dear sir,” exclaimed the horrified 

. 195 


196 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


solicitor; “we mustn’t talk like that, especially in this 
place. Let me beg you—let me entreat you to control 
your feelings, to make no indiscreet remarks; in fact, 
to make no remarks at all,” he added, with the evident 
conviction that any remarks that Mr. Bellingham might 
make would be certain to be indiscreet. 

“Forgive me, Marchmont,” Mr. Bellingham replied 
contritely. ‘I will control myself: I will really be quite 
discreet. I won’t even look at him again—because, if 
I do, I shall probably go over and pull his nose.” 

This form of discretion did not appear to be quite to 
Mr. Marchmont’s liking, for he took the precaution of 
insisting that Miss Bellingham and I should sit on the 
farther side of his client, and thus effectually separate 
him from his enemy. 

“‘Who’s the long-nosed fellow talking to Jellicoe?” 
Mr. Bellingham asked. 

“That is Mr. Loram, K.C., Mr. Hurst’s counsel; and 
the convivial-looking gentleman next to him is our 
counsel, Mr. Heath, a most able man and”—here Mr. 
Marchmont whispered behind his hand—“fully in- 
structed by Doctor Thorndyke.” 

At this juncture the judge entered and took his seat; 
the usher proceeded with great rapidity to swear in the 
jury, and the Court gradually settled down into that 
state of academic quiet which it maintained throughout 
the proceedings, excepting when the noisy swing-doors 
were set oscillating by some bustling clerk or reporter. 

The judge was a somewhat singular-looking old gen- 
tleman, very short as to his face and very long as to his 
mouth; which peculiarities, together with a pair of 
large and bulging eyes (which he usually kept closed), 
suggested a certain resemblance to a frog. And he had 
a curious frog-like trick of flattening his eyelids—as if 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 197 


in the act of swallowing a large beetle—which was the 
only outward and visible sign of emotion that he ever 
displayed. 

As soon as the swearing in of the jury was completed 
Mr. Loram rose to introduce the case; whereupon his 
lordship leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as 
if bracing himself for a painful operation. 

“The present proceedings,” Mr. Loram explained, 
“are occasioned by the unaccountable disappearance of 
Mr. John Bellingham, of 141, Queen Square, Blooms- 
bury, which occurred about two years ago, or, to be 
more precise, on the twenty-third of November, nine- 
teen hundred and two. Since that date nothing has 
been heard of Mr. Bellingham, and, as there are certain 
substantial reasons for believing him to be dead, the 
principal beneficiary under his will, Mr. George Hurst, 
is now applying to the Court for permission to presume 
the death of the testator and prove the will. As the 
time which has elapsed since the testator was last seen 
alive is only two years, the application is based upon 
the circumstances of the disappearance, which were, in 
many respects, very singular, the most remarkable fea- 
ture of that disappearance being, perhaps, its sudden- 
ness and completeness.” 

Here the judge remarked in a still, small voice that 
“Tt would, perhaps, have been even more remarkable 
if the testator had disappeared gradually and incom- 
pletely.” 

“No doubt, my lord,” agreed Mr. Loram; ‘but the 
point is that the testator, whose habits had always been 
regular and orderly, disappeared on the date mentioned 
without having made any of the usual provisions for the 
conduct of his affairs, and has not since then been seen 
or heard of.” 


198 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


With this preamble Mr. Loram proceeded to give a 
narrative of the events connected with the disappear- 
ance of John Bellingham, which was substantially 
identical with that which I had read in the newspapers; 
and having laid the actual facts before the jury, he went 
on to discuss their probable import. 

“Now, what conclusion,” he asked, “‘will this strange, 
this most mysterious train of events suggest to an in- 
telligent person who shall consider it impartially? 
Here is a man who steps forth from the house of his 
cousin or his brother, as the case may be, and forth- 
with, in the twinkling of an eye, vanishes from human 
ken. What is the explanation? Did he steal forth and, 
without notice or hint of his intention, take train to 
some seaport, thence to embark for some distant land, 
leaving his affairs to take care of themselves and his 
friends to speculate vainly as to his whereabouts? Is 
he now hiding abroad, or even at home, indifferent alike 
to the safety of his own considerable property and the 
peace of mind of his friends? Or is it that death has 
come upon him unawares by sickness, by accident, or, 
more probably, by the hand of some unknown criminal? 
Let us consider the probabilities, 

“Can he have disappeared by his own deliberate act? 
Why not? it may be asked. Men undoubtedly do dis- 
appear from time to time, to be discovered by chance 
or to reappear voluntarily after intervals of years and 
find their names almost forgotten and their places filled 
by new-comers. Yes; but there is always some reason 
for a disapearance of this kind, even though it be a bad 
one. Family discords that make life a weariness; 
pecuniary difficulties that make life a succession of 
anxieties; distaste for particular circumstances and sur- 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 199 


roundings from which there seems no escape; inherent 
restlessness and vagabond tendencies, and so on. 

“Do any of these explanations apply to the present 
case? No, they do not. Family discords—at least 
those capable of producing chronic misery—appertain 
exclusively to a married state. But the testator was a 
bachelor with no encumbrances whatever. Pecuniary 
anxieties can be equally excluded. The testator was in 
easy, in fact, in affluent circumstances. His mode of 
life was apparently agreeable and full of interest and 
activity, and he had full liberty of change if he wished. 
He had been accustomed to travel, and could do so 
again without absconding. He had reached an age 
when radical changes do not seem desirable. He was a 
man of fixed and regular habits, and his regularity was 
of his own choice and not due to compulsion or neces- 
sity. When last seen by his friends, as I shall prove, he 
was proceeding to a definite destination with the ex- 
pressed intention of returning for purposes of his own 
appointing. He did return and then vanished, leaving 
those purposes unachieved, 

“If we conclude that he has voluntarily disappeared 
and is at present in hiding, we adopt an opinion that is 
entirely at variance with all these weighty facts. If, 
on the other hand, we conclude that he has died sud- 
denly, or has been killed by an accident or otherwise, 
we are adopting a view that involves no inherent im- 
probabilities and that is entirely congruous with the 
known facts; facts that will be proved by the testimony 
of the witnesses whom [I shall call. The supposition 
that the testator is dead is not only more probable than 
that he is alive; I submit it is the only reasonable ex- 
planation of the circumstances of his disappearance. 

“But this is not all. The presumption of death which 


200 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


arises so inevitably out of the mysterious and abrupt 
manner in which the testator disappeared has recently 
received most conclusive and dreadful confirmation. 
On the fifteenth of July last there were discovered at 
Sidcup the remains of a human arm—a left arm, gentle- 
men, from the hand of which the third, or ring, finger 
was missing. The doctor who has examined that arm 
will tell you that the finger was cut off either after 
death or immediately before; and his evidence will 
prove conclusively that that arm must have been de- 
posited in the place where it was found just about the 
time when the testator disappeared. Since that first 
discovery, other portions of the same mutilated body 
have come to light; and it is a strange and significant 
fact that they have all been found in the immediate 
neighborhood of Eltham or Woodford. You will re- 
member, gentlemen, that it was either at Eltham or 
Woodford that the testator was last seen alive. 

‘“‘And now observe the completeness of the coinci- 
dence. These human remains, as you will be told pres- 
ently by the experienced and learned medical gentleman 
who has examined them most exhaustively, are those of — 
a man of about sixty years of age, about five feet eight 
inches in height, fairly muscular and well preserved, 
apparently healthy, and rather stoutly built. Another 
witness will tell you that the missing man was about 
sixty years of age, about five feet eight inches in height, 
fairly muscular and well preserved, apparently healthy, 
and rather stoutly built. And—another most signifi- 
cant and striking fact—the testator was accustomed to 
wear upon the third finger of his left hand—the very 
finger that is missing from the remains that were found 
—a most peculiar ring, which fitted so tightly that he 
was unable to get it off after once putting it on; a ring, 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 201 


gentlemen, of so peculiar a pattern that had it been 
found on the body must have instantly established the 
identity of the remains. In a word, gentlemen, the 
remains which have been found are those of a man ex- 
actly like the testator; they differ from him in no re- 
spects whatever; they display a mutilation which sug- 
gests an attempt to conceal an identifying peculiarity 
which he undoubtedly presented; and they were de- 
posited in their various hiding-places about the time of 
the testator’s disappearance. Accordingly, when you 
have heard these facts proved by the sworn testimony 
of competent witnesses, together with the facts relating 
to the disappearance, I shall ask you for a verdict in 
accordance with that evidence.” 


Mr, Loram sat down, and adjusting a pair of pince- 
nez, rapidly glanced over his brief while the usher was 
administering the oath to the first witness. 

This was Mr. Jellicoe, who stepped into the box and 
directed a stony gaze at the (apparently) unconscious 
judge. The usual preliminaries having been gone 
through, Mr. Loram proceeded to examine him. 

“You were the testator’s solicitor and confidential 
agent, I believe?” 

“T was—and am.” 

“How long have you known him?” 

“Twenty-seven years.” 

“Judging from your experience of him, should you 
say that he was a person likely to disappear voluntarily 
and suddenly to cease to communicate with his 
friends?” 

‘MNT O,?? 

“Kindly give your reasons for that opinion.” 

“Such conduct on the part of the testator would be 


202 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


entirely opposed to his habits and character as they are 

‘known to me. He was exceedingly regular and busi- 
ness-like in his dealings with me. When traveling 
abroad he always kept me informed as to his where- 
abouts, or, if he was likely to be beyond reach of com- 
munication, he always advised me beforehand. One of 
my duties was to collect a pension which he drew from 
the Foreign Office, and on no occasion, previous to his 
disappearance, has he ever failed to furnish me punc- 
tually with the necessary documents.” 

‘Had he, so far as you know, any reasons for wishing 
to disappear?” 

“No.” 

‘“‘When and where did you last see him alive?” 

“At six o’clock in the evening, on the fourteenth of 
October, nineteen hundred and two, at 141, Queen 
Square, Bloomsbury.” 

“Kindly tell us what happened on that occasion.” 

“The testator had called for me at my office at a 
quarter past three, and asked me to come with him to 
his house to meet Doctor Norbury. I accompanied him 
to 141, Queen Square, and shortly after we arrived 
Doctor Norbury came to look at some antiquities that 
the testator proposed to give to the British Museum. 
The gift consisted of a mummy with four Canopic jars 
and other tomb-furniture which the testator stipulated 
should be exhibited together in a single case and in the 
state in which they were then presented. Of these ob- 
jects, the mummy only was ready for inspection. The 
tomb-furniture had not yet arrived in England, but 
was expected within a week. Doctor Norbury accepted 
the gift on behalf of the Museum, but could not take 
possession of the objects until he had communicated 
with the Director and obtained his formal authority. 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 203 


The testator accordingly gave me certain instructions 
concerning the delivery of the gift, as he was leaving 
England that evening.” 

“Are those instructions relevant to the subject of this 
inquiry?” y 

“TY think they are. The testator was going to Paris, 
and perhaps from thence to Vienna. He instructed me 
to receive and unpack the tomb-furniture on its arrival, 
and to store it, with the mummy, in a particular room, 
where it was to remain for three weeks. If he returned 
within that time he was to hand it over in person to the 
Museum authorities; if he had not returned within that 
time, he desired me to notify the Museum authorities 
that they were at liberty to take possession of and 
remove the collection at their convenience. From these 
instructions I gathered that the testator was uncertain 
as to the length of his absence from England and the 
extent of his journey.” 

“Did he state precisely where he was going?”’ 

“No. He said he was going to Paris and perhaps to 
Vienna, but he gave no particulars and I asked for 
none.” 

“Do you, in fact, know where he went?” 

“No. He left the house at six o’clock wearing a long, 
heavy overcoat and carrying a suit-case and an um- 
brella. I wished him ‘Good-by’ at the door and watched 
him walk away as if going toward Southampton Row. 
I have no idea where he went, and I never saw him 
again.” 

“Had he no other luggage than the suit-case?”’ 

“T do not know, but I believe not. He was accus- 
tomed to travel with the bare necessaries, and to buy 
anything further he wanted en route.” 


204 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Did he say nothing to the servants as to the prob- 
able date of his return?” 

“There were no servants excepting the caretaker. 
The house was not used for residential purposes. The 
testator slept and took his meals at his club, though he 
kept his clothes at the house.” 

“Did you receive any communication from him after 
he left?” | 

“No. I never heard from him again in any way. I 
waited for three weeks as he had instructed me, and 
then notified the Museum authorities that the collection 
was ready for removal. Five days later Doctor Nor- 
bury came and took formal possession of it, and it was 
transferred to the Museum forthwith.” 

“When did you next hear of the testator?” 

“On the twenty-third of November following at a 
quarter-past seven in the evening. Mr. George Hurst 
came to my rooms, which are over my office, and in- 
formed me that the testator had called at his house 
during his absence and had been shown into the study 
to wait for him. That on his—Mr. Hurst’s—arrival 
it was found that the testator had disappeared with- 
out acquainting the servants of his intended departure, 
and without being seen by anyone to leave the house. 
Mr. Hurst thought this so remarkable that he had 
hastened up to town to inform me. I also thought it 
a remarkable circumstance, especially as I had received 
no communication from the testator, and we both de- 
cided that it was advisable to inform the testator’s 
brother, Godfrey, of what had happened. 

“Accordingly Mr. Hurst and I proceeded as quickly 
as possible to Liverpool Street and took the first train 
available to Woodford, where Mr. Godfrey Bellingham 
then resided. We arrived at his house at five minutes 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 205 


to nine, and were informed by the servant that he was 
not at home, but that his daughter was in the library, 
which was a detached building situated in the grounds. 
The servant lighted a lantern and conducted us through 
the grounds to the library, where we found Mr. God- 
frey Bellingham and Miss Bellingham. Mr. Godfrey 
had only just come in and had entered by the back 
gate, which had a bell that rang in the library. Mr. 
Hurst informed Mr. Godfrey of what had occurred, 
and then we left the library to walk up to the house. 
A few paces from the library I noticed by the light of 
the lantern, which Mr. Godfrey was carrying, a small 
object lying on the lawn. I pointed it out to him and he 
picked it up, and then we all recognized it as a scarab 
that the testator was accustomed to wear on his watch- 
chain. It was fitted with a gold wire passed through 
the suspension hole and a gold ring. Both the wire 
and the ring were in position, but the ring was broken. 
We went to the house and questioned the servants as 
to visitors; but none of them had seen the testator, 
and they all agreed that no visitor whatsoever had come 
to the house during the afternoon or evening. Mr. God- 
frey and Miss Bellingham both declared that they had 
neither seen nor heard anything of the testator, and 
were both unaware that he had returned to England. 
As the circumstances were somewhat disquieting, I 
communicated, on the following morning, with the po- 
lice and requested them to make inquiries; which they 
did, with the result that a suit-case bearing the initials 
‘J. B.’, was found to be lying unclaimed in the cloak- 
room at Charing Cross Station. I was able to identify 
the suit-case as that which I had seen the testator 
carry away from Queen Square. I was also able to 
identify some of the contents. I interviewed the cloak- 


206 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


room attendant, who informed me that the suit-case 
had been deposited on the twenty-third about 4:15 P. M. 
He had no recollection of the person who deposited it. 
It remained unclaimed in the possession of the railway 
company for three months, and was then surrendered 
to me.” 

‘“‘Were there any marks or labels on it showing the 
route by which it had traveled?” 

“There were no labels on it and no marks other than 
the initials ‘J. B.’ ” 

“Do you happen to know the testator’s age?” 

“Yes. He was fifty-nine on the eleventh of October, 
nineteen hundred and two.” 

“Can you tell us what his height was?” 

“Yes. He was exactly five feet eight inches.” 

“What sort of health had he?” 

“So far as I know his health was good. I am not 
aware that he suffered from any disease. I am only — 
judging by his appearance, which was that of a healthy 
man.” 

“Should you describe him as well preserved or other- 
wise?” 

“T should describe him as a well preserved man for 
his age.” 

“How should you describe his figure?” 

“T should describe him as rather broad and stout in 
build, and fairly muscular, though not exceptionally 
so.” 

Mr. Loram made a rapid note of these answers and 
then said: 

“You have told us, Mr. Jellicoe, that you have known 
the testator intimately for twenty-seven years. Now, 
did you ever notice whether he was accustomed to wear 
any rings upon his fingers?” 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 207 


“He wore upon the third finger of his left hand a 
copy of an antique ring which bore the device of the 
Eye of Osiris. That was the only ring he ever wore as 
far as I know.” 

“Did he wear it constantly?’” 

“Yes, necessarily; because it was too small for him, 
and having once squeezed it on he was never able to get 
it off again.” 

This was the sum of Mr. Jellicoe’s evidence, and at 
its conclusion the witness glanced inquiringly at Mr. 
Bellingham’s counsel. But Mr. Heath remained seated, 
attentively considering the notes that he had just made, 
and finding that there was to be no cross-examination, 
Mr. Jellicoe stepped down from the box. I leaned back 
on. my bench, and, turning my head, observed Miss 
Bellingham deep in thought. 

“What do you think of it?” I asked. 

“It seems very complete and conclusive,” she re- 
plied. And then, with a sigh, she murmured: “Poor old 
Uncle John! How horrid it sounds to talk of him in 
this cold-blooded, business-like way, as ‘the testator,’ 
as if he were nothing but a sort of algebraical sign.” 

_ “There isn’t much room for sentiment, I suppose, in 
the proceedings of the Probate Court,” I replied. To 
which she assented, and then asked: ‘Who is this 
lady?” 

“This lady” was a fashionably dressed young woman 
who had just bounced into the witness-box and was now 
being sworn. The preliminaries being finished, she 
answered Miss Bellingham’s question and Mr. Loram’s 
by stating that her name was Augustina Gwendoline 
Dobbs, and that she was housemaid to Mr. George 
Hurst, of “The Poplars,” Eltham. 

“Mr. Hurst lives alone, I believe?” said Mr. Loram. 


208 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T don’t know what you mean by that,” Miss Dobbs 
began; but the barrister explained: 

“T mean that I believe he is unmarried?” 

“Well, and what about it?” the witness demanded 
tartly, 

“T am asking you a question.” 

“YT know that,” said the witness viciously; ‘and I 
say that you’ve no business to make any such insinu- 
ations to a respectable young lady when there’s a cook- 
housekeeper and a kitchenmaid living in the house, and 
him old enough to be my father i 

Here his lordship flattened his eyelids with startling 
effect, and Mr. Loram interrupted: “I make no insinua- 
tions. I merely ask, Is your employer, Mr. Hurst, an 
unmarried man, or is he not?” 

“T never asked him,” said the witness sulkily. 

“Please answer my question—yes or no.” 

“How can I answer your question? He may be mar- 
ried or he may not. How do I know? I’m no private 
detective.” 

Mr. Loram directed a stupefied gaze at the witness, 
and in the ensuing silence a plaintiff voice came from 
the bench: 

“Ts that point material?” 

“Certainly, my lord,” replied Mr. Loram. 

“Then, as I see that you are calling Mr. Hurst, per- 
haps you had better put the question to him. He will 
probably know.” 

Mr. Loram bowed, and as the judge subsided into his 
normal state of coma he turned to the triumphant wit- 
ness. 

“Do you remember anything remarkable occurring on 
the twenty-third of November the year before last?” 

“Ves. Mr. John Bellingham called at our house.” 





CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 209 


“How did you know he was Mr. John Bellingham?” 

“IT didn’t; but he said he was, and I supposed he 
knew.” 

““At what time did he arrive?” 

“At twenty minutes past five in the evening.” 

“What happened then?” 

“T told him that Mr. Hurst had not come home yet, 
and he said he would wait for him in the study and 
write some letters; so I showed him into the study and 
shut the door.” 

“What happened next?” : 

“Nothing. Then Mr. Hurst came home at his usual 
time—a quarter to six—and let himself in with his key. 
He went straight into the study where I supposed Mr. 
Bellingham still was, so I took no notice, but laid the 
table for two. At six o’clock Mr. Hurst came into the 
dining-room—he has tea in the City and dines at 
six—and when he saw the table laid for two he asked 
the reason. I said I thought Mr. Bellingham was stay- 
ing to dinner. 

“Mr. Bellingham!’ says he. ‘I didn’t know he was 
here. Why didn’t you tell me?’ he says. ‘I thought 
he was with you, sir,’ I said. ‘I showed him into the 
study,’ I said. ‘Well, he wasn’t there when I came in,’ 
he said, ‘and he isn’t there now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he 
has gone to wait in the drawing-room,’ he said. So he 
went and looked in the drawing-room, but he wasn’t 
there. Then Mr. Hurst said he thought Mr. Belling- 
ham must have got tired of waiting and gone away; 
but I told him I was quite sure he hadn’t, because I 
had been watching all the time. Then he asked me 
if Mr. Bellingham was alone or whether his daughter 
was with him, and I said that it wasn’t Mr. Belling- 
ham at all, but Mr. John Bellingham, and then he was 


210 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


more surprised than ever. I said we had better search 
the house to make sure whether he was there or not, 
and Mr. Hurst said he would come with me; so we all 
went over the house and looked in all the rooms, but 
there was not a sign of Mr. Bellingham in any of them. 
Then Mr. Hurst got very nervous and upset, and when 
he had just snatched a little dinner he ran off to catch 
the six thirty-one train up to town.” 

“You say that Mr. Bellingham could not have left 
the house because you were watching all the time. 
Where were you while you were watching?” 

“T was in the kitchen. I could see the front gate 
from the kitchen window.” 

“You say that you laid the table for two. Where did 
you lay it?” 

“In the dining-room, of course.” 

“Could you see the front gate from the dining-room?”’ 

“No, but I could see the study door. The study is 
opposite the dining-room.” 

“Do you have to come upstairs to get from the kit- 
chen to the dining-room?”’ 

“Ves, of course you do!” 

“Then, might not Mr. Bellingham have left the house 
while you were coming up the stairs?” 

“No, he couldn’t have done.” 

“Why note” 

“Because it would have been impossible.” 

“But why would it have been impossible?” 

“Because he couldn’t have done it.” 

“T suggest that Mr. Bellingham left the house quietly 
while you were on the stairs?” 

“No, he didn’t.” 

“How do you know he did not?” 

“T am quite sure he didn’t.” 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT arr 


“But how can you be certain?” 

“Because I should have seen him if he had.” 

“But I mean when you were on the stairs.” 

“He was in the study when I was on the stairs.”’ 

“How do you know he was in the study?” 

“Because I showed him in there and he hadn’t come 
out.” 

Mr. Loram paused and took a deep breath, and his 
lordship flattened his eyelids. 

“Is there a side gate to the premises?” the barrister 
resumed wearily. 7 

“Yes. It opens into a narrow lane at the side o 
the house.” 

“And there is a French window in the study, is there 
not?” 

“Yes. It opens on to the small grass plot opposite the 
side gate.” 

“The windowd and the gate both have catches on the 
have been possible for Mr. Bellingham to let himself 
out into the lane?” 

“The window and gate both have catches on the 
inside. He could have got out that way, but, of course 
he didn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, no gentleman would go creeping out the back 
way like a thief.” 

“Did you look to see if the French window was shut 
and fastened after you missed Mr. Bellingham?” 

“T looked at it when we shut the house up for the 
night. It was then shut and fastened on the inside.” 

“And the side gate?” 

“That gate was shut and latched. You have to slam 
the gate to make the latch fasten, so no one could 
have gone out of the gate without being heard.” 


212 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Here the examination-in-chief ended, and Mr. Loram 
sat down with an audible sigh of relief. Miss Dobbs 
was about to step down from the witness-box when Mr. 
Heath rose to cross-examine. 

“Did you see Mr. Bellingham in a good light?” he 
asked. 

“Pretty good. It was dark outside, but the hall-lamp 
was alight.” 

“Kindly look at this”’—here a small object was 
passed across to the witness. “It is a trinket that Mr. 
Bellingham is stated to have carried suspended from 
his watch-guard. Can you remember if he was wearing 
it in that manner when he came to the house?” 

“No, he was not.” 

“You are sure of that.” 

“Quite sure.” 

“Thank you. And now I want to ask you about 
the search that you have mentioned. You say that you 
went all over the house. Did you go into the study?” 

“No—at least, not until Mr. Hurst had gone to 
London.” 

“When you did go in, was the window fastened?” 

“Ves,” 

“Could it have been fastened from the outside?” 

“No; there is no handle outside.” | 

“What furniture is there in the study?” 

“There is a writing-table, a revolving-chair, two easy 
chairs, two large book-cases, and a wardrobe that Mr. 
Hurst ‘keeps his overcoats and hats in.’ 

“Does the wardrobe lock?” 

Ves 7? 

“Was it locked when you went in?” 

“T’m sure I don’t know. I don’t go about trying the 
cupboards and drawers.” 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 213 


“What furniture is there in the drawing-room?” 

“A cabinet, six or seven chairs, a Chesterfield sofa, a 
piano, a silver-table, and one or two occasional tables.” 

“Is the piano a grand or upright?” 

“Tt is an upright grand.” 

“In what position is it placed?” 

“Tt stands across a corner near the window.” 

“Ts there sufficient room behind it for a man to con- 
ceal himself?” 

Miss Dobbs was amused and did not dissemble. 
“Qh, yes,” she sniggered, “there’s plenty of room for 
a man to hide behind it.” 

“When you searched the drawing-room, did you look 
behind the piano?” | 

“‘No, I didn’t,”” Miss Dobbs replied scornfully. 

“Did you look under the sofa?” 

“Certainly not!” 

“What did you do then?” 

‘‘We opened the door and looked into the room. We 
were not looking for a cat or a monkey; we were look- 
ing for a middle-aged gentleman.” 

“And am I to take it that your search over the rest 
of the house was conducted in a similar manner?” 

“Certainly. We looked into the rooms, but we did 
not search under the beds or in the cupboards.” 

“Are all the rooms in the house in use as living or 
sleeping rooms?” 

“No; there is one room on the second floor that 
is used as a store and lumber-room, and one on the first 
floor that Mr. Hurst uses to store trunks and things 
that he is not using.” 

“Did you look in those rooms when you searched the 
house?” 

‘No. 


214 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Have you looked in them since?” 

“T have been in the lumber-room since, but not in the 
other. It is always kept locked.” 

At this point an ominous flattening became apparent 
in his lordship’s eyelids, but these symptoms passed 
when Mr. Heath sat down and indicated that he had 
no further questions to ask. 

Miss Dobbs once more prepared to step down from 
the witness box, when Mr. Loram shot up like a jack- 
in-the-box. 

“You have made certain statements,” said he, “‘con- 
cerning the scarab which Mr. Bellingham was accus- 
tomed to wear suspended from his watch-guard. You 
say that he was not wearing it when he came to Mr. 
Hurst’s house on the twenty-third of November, nine- 
teen hundred and two. Are you quite sure of that?” 

“Quite sure.” | 

“T must ask you to be very careful in your statement 
on this point. The question is a highly important one. 
Do you swear that the scarab was not hanging from 
his watch-guard?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Did you notice the watch-guard particularly?” 

“No; not particularly.” 

“Then what makes you sure that the scarab was not 
attached to it?” 

“Tt couldn’t have been.” 

“Why could it not?” 

“Because if it had been there I should have seen it.” 

“What kind of watch-guard was Mr. Bellingham 
wearing?” 

“Oh, an ordinary sort of watch-guard.” 

“YT mean was it a chain or a ribbon or a strap?” 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 15 


“A chain, I think—or perhaps a ribbon—or it might 
have been a strap.” 

His lordship flattened his eyelids, but made no further 
sign and Mr. Loram continued: 

“Did you or did you not notice what kind of watch- 
guard Mr. Bellingham was wearing?” 

“T did not. Why should I? It was no business of 
mine.” 

“But yet you are quite sure about the scarab?” 

“Yes, quite sure.” 

“You noticed that, then?” 

“No, I didn’t. How could I when it wasn’t there?” 

Mr. Loram paused and looked helplessly at the wit- 
ness; a suppressed titter arose from the body of the 
Court, and a faint voice from the bench inquired: 

“Are you quite incapable of giving a straightforward 
answer?” : 

Miss Dobbs’ only reply was to burst into tears; 
whereupon Mr. Loram abruptly sat down and aban- 
doned his re-examination. 

The witness-box vacated by Miss Dobbs was occu- 
pied successively by Dr. Norbury, Mr. Hurst and the 
cloak-room attendant, none of whom contributed any 
new facts, but merely corroborated the statements made 
by Mr. Jellicoe and the housemaid. Then came the 
laborer who discovered the bones at Sidcup, and who 
repeated the evidence that he had given at the in- 
quest, showing that the remains could not have been 
lying in the watercress-bed more than two years. Fi- 
nally Dr. Summers was called, and, after he had given 
‘a brief description of the bones that he had examined, 
was asked by Mr. Loram: 

“You have heard the description that Mr. Jellicoe 
has given of the testator?”’ 


216 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“T have.” 

“Does that description apply to the person whose 
remains you examined.” 

“In a general way it does.” 

“J must ask you for a direct answer—yes or no. 
Does it apply?” 

“Ves. But I ought to say that my estimate of the 
height of the deceased is only approximate.” 

“Quite so. Judging from your examination of those 
remains and from Mr. Jellicoe’s description, might those 
remains be the remains of the testator, John Belling- 
hamre” 

“Yes, they might.” 

On receiving this admission Mr. Loram sat down, and 
Mr. Heath immediately rose to cross-examine. 

“When you examined these remains, Doctor Sum- 
mers, did you discover any personal peculiarities which 
would enable you to identify them as the remains of any 
one individual rather than any other individual of 
similar size, age, and proportions?”’ 

“No. I found nothing that would identify the re- 
mains as those of any particular individual.” 

As Mr. Heath asked no further questions, the wit- 
ness received his dismissal, and Mr. Loram informed 
the Court that that was his case. The judge bowed 
somnolently, and then Mr. Heath rose to address the 
Court on behalf of the respondent. It was not a long 
speech, nor was it enriched by any displays of florid 
rhetoric; it concerned itself exclusively with a rebut- 
ment of the arguments of the counsel for the petitioner. 

Having briefly pointed out that the period of absence 
was too short to give rise of itself to the presumption of 
death, Mr. Heath continued: 

“The claim therefore rests upon evidence of a posi- 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 217 


tive character. My learned friend asserts that the 
testator is presumably dead, and it is for him to prove 
what he has affirmed. Now, has he done this? I sub- 
mit that he has not. He has argued with great force 
and ingenuity that the testator, being a bachelor, a 
solitary man without wife or child, dependant or master, 
public or private office of duty, or any bond, responsi- 
bility, or any other condition limiting his freedom of 
action, had no reason or inducement for absconding. 
This is my learned friend’s argument, and he has con- 
ducted it with so much skill and ingenuity that he has 
not only succeeded in proving his case; he has proved 
a great deal too much. For if it is true, as my learned 
friend so justly argues, that a man thus unfettered 
by obligations of any kind has no reason for dis- 
appearing, is it not even more true that he has no reason 
for not disappearing? My friend has urged that the 
testator was at liberty to go where he pleased, when 
he pleased, and how he pleased; and that therefore 
there was no need for him to abscond. I reply, if he 
was at liberty to go away, wither, when, and how he 
pleased, why do we express surprise that he has made 
use of his liberty? My learned friend points out that 
the testator notified nobody of his intention of going 
away and has acquainted no one with his whereabouts; 
but, I ask, whom should he have notified? He was re- 
sponsible to nobody; there was no one dependent upon 
him; his presence or absence was the concern of no- 
body but himself. If circumstances suddenly arising 
made it desirable that he should go abroad, why should 
he not go? I say there was no reason whatever. 

“My learned friend has said that the testator went 
away leaving his affairs to take care of themselves. 
Now, gentlemen, I ask you if this can fairly be said 


218 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


of a man whose affairs are, as they have been for many 
years, in the hands of a highly capable, completely 
trustworthy agent who is better acquainted with them 
than the testator himself? Clearly it cannot. 

“To conclude this part of the argument: I submit 
that the circumstances of the so-called disappearance 
of the testator present nothing out of the ordinary. 
The testator is a man of ample means, without any 
responsibilities to fetter his movements, and has been 
in the constant habit of traveling, often into remote 
and distant regions, The mere fact that he has been 
absent somewhat longer than usual affords no ground 
whatever for the drastic proceeding of presumption of 
death and taking possession of his property. 

“With reference to the human remains which have 
been mentioned in connection with the case I need say 
but little. The attempt to connect them with the tes- 
tator has failed completely. You yourselves have heard 
Doctor Summers state on oath that they cannot be 
identified as the remains of any particular person. 
That would seem to dispose of them effectually. I must 
remark upon a very singular point that has been raised 
by the learned counsel for the petitioner, which is this: 

“My learned friend points out that these remains 
were discovered near Eltham and near Woodford and 
that the testator was last seen alive at one of these 
two places. This he considers for some reason to be 
a highly significant fact. But I cannot agree with 
him. If the testator had been last seen alive at Wood- 
ford and the remains had been found at Woodford, 
or if he had disappeared from Eltham, and the remains 
had been found at Eltham, that would have had some 
significance. But he can only have been last seen at 
one of the places, whereas the remains have been found 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 219 


at both places. Here again my learned friend seems 
to have proved too much. 

“But I need not occupy your time further. I re- 
peat that, in order to justify us in presuming the death 
of the testator, clear and positive evidence would be 
necessary. ‘That no such evidence has been brought 
forward. Accordingly, seeing that the testator may re- 
turn at any time and is entitled to find his property in- 
tact. I shall ask you for a verdict that will secure to 
him this measure of ordinary justice.” 

At the conclusion of Mr. Heath’s speech the judge, 
as if awakening from a refreshing nap, opened his eyes; 
and uncommonly shrewd, intelligent eyes they were 
when the expressive eyelids were duly tucked up out 
.of the way. He commenced by reading over a part of 
the will and certain notes—which he appeared to have 
made in some miraculous fashion with his eyes shut— 
and then proceeded to review the evidence and the 
counsels’ arguments for the instruction of the jury. 

“Before considering the evidence which you have 
heard, gentlemen,” he said, “it will be well for me to 
say a few words to you on the general aspects of the 
case which is occupying our attention. 

“If a person goes abroad or disappears from his 
home and his ordinary places of resort and is absent 
for a long period of time, the presumption of death 
arises at the expiration of seven years from the date 
on which he was last heard of. That is to say, that 
the total disappearance of an individual for seven years 
constitutes presumptive evidence that the said individ- 
ual is dead; and the presumption can be set aside only 
by the production of evidence that he was alive at some 
time within that period of seven years. But if, on the 
other hand, it is sought to presume the death of a 


220 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


person who has been absent for a shorter period than 
seven years, it is necessary to produce such evidence 
as shall make it highly probable that the said person 
is dead. Of course, presumption implies supposition 
as opposed to actual demonstration; but, nevertheless, 
the evidence in such a case must be of a kind that 
tends to create a very strong belief that death has oc- 
curred; and I need hardly say that the shorter the 
period of absence, the more convincing must be the 
evidence, 

“In the present case, the testator, John Bellingham, 
has been absent somewhat under two years. This is 
a relatively short period, and in itself gives rise to 
no presumption of death. Nevertheless, death has been 
presumed in a case where the period of absence was 
even shorter and the insurance recovered; but here the 
evidence supporting the belief in the occurrence of 
death was exceedingly weighty. 

“The testator in this case was a shipmaster, and his 
disappearance was accompanied by the disappearance 
of the ship and the entire ship’s company in the course 
of a voyage from London to Marseilles. The loss of 
the ship and her crew was the only reasonable explana- 
tion of the disappearance, and, short of actual demon- 
stration, the facts offered convincing evidence of the 
death of all persons on board. I mention this case as 
an illustration. You are not dealing with speculative 
probabilities. You are contemplating a very momen- 
tous proceeding, and you must be very sure of your 
ground. Consider what it is that you are asked to do. 

“The petitioner asks permission to presume the 
death of the testator in order that the testator’s prop- 
erty may be distributed among the beneficiaries under 
the will. The granting of such permission involves 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 221 


us in the gravest responsibility. An ill-considered 
decision might be productive of a serious injustice to 
the testator, an injustice that could never be remedied. 
Hence it is incumbent upon you to weigh the evi- 
dence with the greatest care, to come to no deci- 
sion without the profoundest consideration of all the 
facts. 

‘““The evidence that you have heard divides itself into 
two parts—that relating to the circumstances of the 
testator’s disappearance, and that relating to certain 
human remains. In connection with the latter I can 
only express my surprise and regret that the applica- 
tion was not postponed until the completion of the 
coroner’s inquest, and leave you to consider the evi- 
dence. You will bear in mind that Doctor Summers 
has stated explicitly that the remains cannot be iden- 
tified as those of any particular individual, but that 
the testator and the unknown deceased had so many 
points of resemblance that they might possibly be one 
and the same person. 

“With reference to the circumstances of the disap- 
pearance, you have heard the evidence of Mr. Jellicoe 
to the effect that the testator has on no previous oc- 
casion gone abroad without informing him as to his 
proposed destination. But in considering what weight 
you are to give to this statement you will bear in mind 
that when the testator set out for Paris after his inter- 
view with Doctor Norbury he left Mr. Jellicoe without 
any information as to his specific destination, his ad- 
dress in Paris, or the precise date when he should 
return, and that Mr. Jellicoe was unable to tell us 
where the testator went or what was his business. Mr. 
Jellicoe was, in fact, for a time without any means of 
tracing the testator or ascertaining his whereabouts. 


222 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“The evidence of the housemaid, Dobbs, and of Mr. 
Hurst is rather confusing. It appears that the testa- 
tor came to the house, and when looked for later was 
not to be found. A search of the premises showed 
that he was not in the house, whence it seems to fol- 
low that he must have left it; but since no one was 
informed of his intention to leave, and he had ex- 
pressed the intention of staying to see Mr. Hurst, his 
conduct in thus going away surreptitiously must ap- 
pear somewhat eccentric. The point that you have 
to consider, therefore, is whether a person who is 
capable of thus departing in a surreptitious and eccen- 
tric manner from a house, without giving notice to the 
servants, is capable also of departing in a surreptitious 
and eccentric manner from his usual places of resort 
without giving notice to his friends or thereafter in- 
forming them of his whereabouts. 

“The questions, then, gentlemen, that you have to 
ask yourselves before deciding on your verdict are 
two: first, Are the circumstances of the testator’s dis- 
appearance and his continued absence incongruous with 
his habits and personal peculiarities as they are known 
to you? and second, Are there any facts which indicate 
in a positive manner that the testator is dead? Ask 
yourselves these questions, gentlemen, and the answers 
to them, furnished by the evidence that you have heard, 
will guide you to your decision.” 

Having delivered himself of the above instructions, 
the judge applied himself to the perusal of the will with 
professional gusto, in which occupation he was pres- 
ently disturbed by the announcement of the foreman 
of the jury that a verdict had been agreed upon. 

The judge sat up and glanced at the jury-box, and 
when the foreman proceeded to state that ‘We find 


CARRIES THE READER INTO COURT 223 


no sufficient reason for presuming the testator, John 
Bellingham, to be dead,” he nodded approvingly. Evi- 
dently that was his opinion, too, as he was careful to 
explain when he conveyed to Mr. Loram the refusal of 
the Court to grant the permission applied for. 

The decision was a great relief to me, and also, I 
think, to Miss Bellingham; but most of all to her 
father, who, with instinctive good manners, since he 
could not suppress a smile of triumph, rose and hastily 
stumped out of the Court, so that the discomfited Hurst 
should not see him. His daughter and I followed, and 
as we left the Court she remarked, with a smile: 

“So our pauperism is not, after all, made absolute. 
There is still a chance for us in the Chapter of Acci- 
_dents—and perhaps even for poor old Uncle John.” 


CHAPTER XV 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


THE morning after the hearing saw me setting forth 
on my round in more than usually good spirits. The 
round itself was but a short one, for my list con- 
tained only a couple of “chronics,” and this, perhaps, 
contributed to my cheerful outlook on life. But there 
were other reasons. The decision of the Court had 
come as an unexpected reprieve and the ruin of my 
friends’ prospects was at least postponed. ‘Then, IL 
had learned that Thorndyke was back from Bristol 
and wished me to look in on him; and, finally, Miss 
Bellingham had agreed to spend this very afternoon 
with me, browsing round the galleries at the British 
Museum. 

I had disposed of my two patients by a quarter to 
eleven, and three minutes later was striding down Mitre 
Court, all agog to hear what Thorndyke had to say 
with reference to my notes on the inquest. ‘The ‘‘oak” 
was open when I arrived at his chambers, and a modest 
flourish on the little brass knocker of the inner door 
was answered by my quondam teacher himself. 

“How good of you, Berkeley,” he said, shaking 
hands genially, “to look me up so early. I am alone, 
just looking through the report of the evidence of yes- 
terday’s proceedings.” 

He placed an easy chair for me, and, gathering up 
a bundle of typewritten papers, laid them aside on the 
table. 

224 


“CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 225 


‘“‘Were you surprised at the decision?” I asked. 

“No,” he answered. ‘Two years is a short period 
of absence; but still, it might easily have gone the 
other way. I am greatly relieved. The respite gives 
us time to carry out our investigations without undue 
hurry.” 

“Did you find my notes of any use?” I asked. 

“Heath did. Polton handed them to him, and they 
were invaluable to him for his cross-examination. I 
haven’t seen them yet; in fact, I have only just got 
them back from him. Let us go through them together 
now.” 

He opened a drawer and taking from it my note- 
book, seated himself, and began to read through my 
notes with grave attention, while I stood and looked 
shyly over his shoulder. On the page that contained 
my sketches of the Sidcup arm, showing the distribu- 
tion of the snails’ eggs on the bones, he lingered with 
a faint smile that made me turn hot and red. 

“Those sketches look rather footy,” I said; “but I 
had to put something in my notebook.” 

“You did not attach any importance, then, to the 
facts that they illustrated?” 

“Noo. The egg-patches were there, so I noted the 
fact. That’s all.” 

“T congratulate you, Berkeley. There is not one 
man in twenty who would have had the sense to make 
a careful note of what he considers an unimportant or 
irrelevant fact; and the investigator who notes only 
those things that appear significant is perfectly use- 
less. He gives himself no material for reconsideration. 
But you don’t mean that these egg-patches and worm- 
tubes appeared to you to have no significance at all?” 


226 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“Oh, of course, they show the position in which the 
bones were lying.” 

“Exactly. The arm was lying, fully extended, with 
the dorsal side uppermost. But we also learn from 
these egg-patches that the hand had been separated 
from the arm before it was thrown into the pond; and 
there is something very remarkable in that.” 

I leaned over his shoulder and gazed at my sketches, 
amazed at the rapidity with which he had reconstructed 
the limb from my rough drawings of the individual 
bones. 

“T don’t quite see how you arrived at it, though,” I 
said. 

“Well, look at your drawings. The egg-patches are 
on the dorsal surface of the scapula, the humerus, and 
the bones of the fore-arm. But here you have shown 
six of the bones of the hand: two metacarpals, the os 
magnum, and three phalanges; and they all have egg- 
patches on the palmar surface. Therefore the hand was 
lying palm upward.” 

“But the hand may have been pronated.” 

“Tf you mean pronated in relation to the arm, that 
is impossible, for the position of the egg-patches shows 
clearly that the bones of the arm were lying in the 
position of supination. ‘Thus the dorsal surface of 
the arm and the palmar surface of the hand respec- 
tively were uppermost, which is an anatomical impos- 
sibility so long as the hand is attached to the arm.” 

“But might not the hand have become detached af- 
ter lying in the pond for some time?” 

“No. It could not have been detached until the liga- 
ments had decayed, and if it had been separated after 
the decay of the soft parts, the bones would have been 
thrown into disorder. But the egg-patches are all on 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 227 


the palmar surface, showing that the bones were still 
in their normal relative positions. No, Berkeley, that 
hand was thrown into the pond separately from the 
arm.” 

“But why should it have been?” I asked. 

“Ah, there is a very pretty little problem for you 
to consider. And, meantime, let me tell you that your 
expedition has been a brilliant success. You are an 
excellent observer. Your only fault is that when you 
have noted certain facts you don’t seem fully to ap- 
preciate their significance—which is merely a matter 
of inexperience. As to the facts that you have col- 
lected, several of them are of prime importance.” 

“T am glad you are satisfied,” said I, “though I don’t 
see that I have discovered much excepting those snail’s 
eggs; and they don’t seem to have advanced matters 
very much.” 

“A definite fact, Berkeley, is a definite asset. Per- 
haps we may presently find a little space in our Chinese 
puzzle which this fact of the detached hand will just 
drop into. But, tell me, did you find nothing unex- 
pected or suggestive about those bones—as to their 
number and condition, for instance?” 

“Well, I thought it a little queer that the scapula 
and clavicle should be there. I should have expected 
him to cut the arm off at the shoulder-joint.”’ 

“Ves,” said Thorndyke; ‘so should I; and so it has 
been done in every case of dismemberment that I am 
acquainted with. To an ordinary person, the arm 
seems to join on to the trunk at the shoulder-joint, and 
-that is where he would naturally sever it. What 
explanation do you suggest of this unusual mode of 
severing the arm?” 

“Do you think the fellow could have been a but- 


228 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


cher?” I asked, remembering Dr. Summers’ remark. 
“This is the way a shoulder of mutton is taken off.” 

“No,” replied Thorndyke. ‘A butcher includes the 
scapula in a shoulder of mutton for a specific purpose, 
namely, to take off a given quantity of meat. And 
also, as a sheep has no clavicle, it is the easiest way 
to detach the limb. But I imagine a butcher would 
find himself in difficulties if he attempted to take off 
a man’s arm in that way. The clavicle would be a 
new and perplexing feature. Then, too, a butcher 
does not deal very delicately with his subject; if he 
has to divide a joint, he just cuts through it and does 
not trouble himself to avoid marking the bones. But 
you note here that there is not a single scratch or 
score on any one of the bones, not even where the finger 
was removed. Now, if you have ever prepared bones 
for a museum, as I have, you will remember the ex- 
treme care that is necessary in disarticulating joints 
to avoid disfiguring the articular ends of the bones with 
cuts and scratches.” 

“Then you think that the person who dismembered 
this body must have had some anatomical knowledge 
and skill?” 

“That is what has been suggested. The suggestion 
is not mine.” 

“Then I infer that you don’t agree?” 

Thorndyke smiled. ‘I am sorry to be so cryptic, 
Berkeley, but you understand that I can’t make state- 
ments. Still, I am trying to lead you to make certain 
inferences from the facts that are in your possession.” 

“Tf I make the right inference, will you tell me?” I 
asked. 

“Tt won’t be necessary,” he answered, with the same 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 229 


quiet smile. ‘When you have fitted the puzzle together 
you don’t need to be told you have done it.” 

It was most infernally tantalizing. I pondered on the 
problem with a scowl of such intense cogitation that 
Thorndyke laughed outright. 

“It seems to me,” I said, at length, ‘‘that the identity 
of the remains is the primary question and that it is 
a question of fact. It doesn’t seem any use to speculate 
about it.” | 

“Exactly.. Either these bones are the remains of 
John Bellingham or they are not. There will be no 
doubt on the subject when all the bones are assembled 
—if ever they are. And the settlement of that ques- 
tion will probably throw light on the further ques- 
tion: Who deposited them in the places in which they 
were found? But to return to your observations: did 
you gather nothing from the other bones? From the 
complete state of the neck vertebrae for instance?” 

“Well, it did strike me as rather odd that the fellow 
should have gone to the trouble of separating the atlas 
from the skull. He must have been pretty handy with 
the scalpel to have done it as cleanly as he seems to 
have done; but I don’t see why he should have gone 
about the business in the most inconvenient way.” 

“You notice the uniformity of method. He has 
separated the head from the spine, instead of cutting 
through the spine lower down, as most persons would 
have done: he removed the arms with the entire shoul- 
der-girdle, instead of simply cutting them off at the 
shoulder-joints. Even in the thighs the same pecu- 
liarity appears; for in neither case was the knee-cap 
found with the thigh-bone, although it seems to have 
been searched for. Now the obvious way to divide the 
leg is to cut through the patellar ligament, leaving the 


230 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


knee-cap attached to the thigh. But in this case, the 
knee-cap appears to have been left attached to the 
shank. Can you explain why this person should have 
adopted this unusual and rather inconvenient method? 
Can you suggest a motive for this procedure, or can 
you think of any circumstances which might lead a 
person to adopt this method by preference?” 

“It seems as if he wished, for some reason, to divide 
the body into definite anatomical regions.” 

Thorndyke chuckled. ‘You are not offering that 
suggestion as an explanation, are you? Because it 
would require more explaining than the original prob- 
lem. And it is not even true. Anatomically speaking, 
the knee-cap appertains to the thigh rather than to the 
shank, It is a sesamoid bone belonging to the thigh 
muscles; yet in this case it has been left attached, 
apparently to the shank. No, Berkeley, that cat won’t 
jump. Our unknown operator was not preparing a 
skeleton as a museum specimen; he was dividing a 
body up into convenient sized portions for the purpose 
of conveying them to various ponds. Now what cir- 
cumstances might have led him to divide it in this pe- 
culiar manner?” 

“YT am afraid I have no suggestion to offer. Have 
you?” 

Thorndyke suddenly lapsed into ambiguity. “I 
think,” he said, “it is possible to conceive such cir- 
cumstances, and so, probably, will you if you think it 
over.” 

“Did you gather anything of importance from the 
evidence at the inquest?” I asked. 

“Tt is difficult to say,” he replied. ‘The whole of 
my conclusions in this case are based on what is vir- 
tually circumstantial evidence. I have not one single 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 231 


fact of which I can say that it admits only of a single 
interpretation. Still, it must be remembered that even 
the most inconclusive facts, if sufficiently multiplied, 
yield a highly conclusive total. And my little pile 
of evidence is growing, particle ‘by particle; but we 
mustn’t sit here gossiping at this hour of the day; 
I have to consult with Marchmont and you say that 
you have an early afternoon engagement, We can 
walk together as far as Fleet Street.” 

A minute or two later we went our respective ways, 
Thorndyke toward Lombard Street and I to Fetter 
Lane, not unmindful of those coming events that were 
casting so agreeable a shadow before them. 

There was only one message awaiting me, and when 
Adolphus had delivered it (amidst mephitic fumes that 
rose from the basement, premonitory of fried plaice), 
I pocketed my stethoscope and betook myself to Gun- 
powder Alley, the aristocratic abode of my patient, 
joyfully threading the now familiar passages of Gough 
Square and Wine Office Court, and meditating plea- 
santly on the curious literary flavor that pervades 
these little-known regions. For the shade of the au- 
thor of Rasselas still seems to haunt the scenes of 
his Titanic labors and his ponderous but homely and 
temperate rejoicings. Every court and alley whispers 
of books and of the making of books: forms of type, 
trundled noisily on trolleys by ink-smeared boys, salute 
the wayfarer at odd corners; piles of strawboard, rolls 
or bales of paper, drums of printing-ink or roller com- 
position stand on the pavement outside dark entries; 
basement windows give glimpses into Hadean caverns 
tenanted by legions of printer’s devils; and the very 
air is charged with the hum of press and with odors 
of glue and paste and oil. The entire neighborhood is 


232 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


given up to the printer and binder; and even my patient 
turned out to be a guillotine-knife grinder—a ferocious 
and revolutionary calling strangely at variance with 
his harmless appearance and meek bearing. 

I was in good time at my tryst, despite the hindrances 
of fried plaice and invalid guillotinists; but, early as I 
was, Miss Bellingham was already waiting in the garden 
—she had been filling a bowl with flowers—ready to 
sally forth. 

“Tt is quite like old times,” she said, as we turned 
into Fetter Lane, “to be going to the Museum together. 
It brings back the Tell-el-Amarna tablets and all your 
kindness and unselfish labor. I suppose we shall walk 
there to-day?” 

“Certainly,” I replied; “I am not going to share your 
society with the common mortals who ride in omni- 
buses. That would be sheer, sinful waste. Besides, it 
is more companionable to walk.” 

“Yes, it is; and the bustle of the streets makes one 
more appreciative of the quiet of the Museum, What 
are we going to look at when we get there?” 

“You must decide that,” I replied. ‘You know the 
collection much better than I do.” 

“Well, now,” she mused, ‘“‘I wonder what you would 
like to see; or, in other words, what I should like you 
to see. The old English pottery is rather fascinating, 
especially the Fulham ware. I rather think I shall take 
you to see that.” 

She reflected a while, and then, just as we reached 
the gate of Staple Inn, she stopped and looked thought- 
fully down the Gray’s Inn Road. 

“You have taken a great interest in our ‘case’ as 
Doctor Thorndyke calls it. Would you like to see 
the churchyard where Uncle John wished to be buried? 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 233 


It is a little out of our way, but we are not in a 
hurry, are we?” 

I, certainly, was not. Any deviation that might pro- 
long our walk was welcome, and as to the place— 
why, all places were alike to me if only she were by 
my side. Besides, the churchyard was really of some 
interest, since it was undoubtedly the “exciting cause” 
of the obnoxious paragraph two of the will. I accord- 
ingly expressed a desire to make its acquaintance, and 
we crossed to the entrance to Gray’s Inn Road. 

“Do you ever try,” she asked, as we turned down 
the dingy thoroughfare, ‘‘to picture familiar places as 
they looked a couple of hundred years ago?” 

“Yes,” I answered, “and very difficult I find it. One 
has to manufacture the materials for reconstruction, 
and then the present aspect of the place will keep 
obtruding itself. But some places are easier to recon- 
stitute than others.” 

“That is what I find,” said she. ‘Now Holborn, for 
example, is quite easy to reconstruct, though I dare- 
say the imaginary form isn’t a bit like the original. 
But there are fragments left, like Staple Inn and the 
front of Gray’s Inn; and then one has seen prints 
of the old Middle Row and some of the taverns, so 
that one has some material with which to help out 
one’s imagination. But this road we are walking in 
always baffles me. It looks so old and yet is, for the 
most part, so new that I find it impossible to make 
a satisfactory picture of its appearance, say, when Sir 
Roger de Coverley might have strolled in Gray’s Inn 
Walks, or farther back, when Francis Bacon had 
chambers in the Inn.” 

“T imagine,” said I, “that part of the difficulty is 
in the mixed character of the neighborhood. Here 


234 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


on the one side, is old Gray’s Inn, not much changed 
since Bacon’s time—his chambers are still to be seen, 
I think, over the gateway; and there, on the Clerken- 
well side, is a dense and rather squalid neighbor- 
hood which has grown up over a region partly rural 
and wholly fugitive in character. Places like Bag- 
nigge Wells and Hockley in the Hole would not have 
had many buildings that were likely to survive; and 
in the absence of surviving specimens the imagination 
hasn’t much to work from.” 

“T daresay you are right,” said she. “Certainly, the 
purlieus of old Clerkenwell present a very confused pic- 
ture to me; whereas, in the case of an old street like, 
say, Great Ormond Street, one has only to sweep away 
the modern buildings and replace them with glorious 
old houses like the few that remain, dig up the roadway 
and pavements and lay down cobble-stones, plant a 
few wooden posts, hang up one or two oil-lamps, and 
the transformation is complete. And a very delightful 
transformation it is.” 

“Very delightful; which, by the way, is a melancholy 
thought. For we ought to be doing better work than 
our forefathers; whereas what we actually do is to pull 
down the old buildings, clap the doorways, porticoes, 
paneling, and mantels in our museums, and then run 
up something inexpensive and useful and deadly un- 
interesting in their place.” 

My companion looked at me and laughed softly. 
“For a naturally cheerful, and even gay young man,” 
said she, “you are most amazingly pessimistic. The 
mantle of Jeremiah—if he ever wore one—seems to 
have fallen on you, but without in the least impairing — 
your good spirits excepting in regard to matters — 
architectural.” 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 235 


“T have much to be thankful for,” said I. “Am I not 
taken to the Museum by a fair lady? And does she 
not stay me with mummy cases and comfort me with 
crockery?” : 

“Pottery,” she corrected; and then as we met a 
party of grave-looking women emerging from a side- 
street, she said: “I suppose those are lady medical 
students.” 

“Yes, on their way to the Royal Free Hospital. Note 
the gravity of their demeanor and contrast it with the 
levity of the male student.” 

“I was doing so,” she answered, ‘‘and wondering why 
professional women are usually so much more serious 
than men.” 

“Perhaps,” I suggested, “it is a matter of selection. 
A peculiar type of woman is attracted to the profes- 
sions, whereas every man has to earn his living as a 
matter of course.” 

“Yes, I daresay that is the explanation. This is our 
turning.” 

We passed into Heathcote Street, at the end of which 
was an open gate giving entrance to one of those disused 
and metamorphosed burial-grounds that are to be met 
with in the older districts of London; in which the 
dispossessed dead are jostled into corners to make room 
for the living. Many of the headstones were still 
standing, and others, displaced to make room for as- 
phalted walks and seats, were ranged around by the 
walls exhibiting inscriptions made meaningless by their 
removal. It was a pleasant enough place on this 
summer afternoon, contrasted with the dingy streets 
whence we had come, though its grass was faded and 

Pctlow and the twitter of the birds in the trees mingled 
with the hideous Board-school drawls of the children 


236 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


who played around the seats and the few remaining 
tombs. 

“So this is the last resting-place of the illustrious 
house of Bellingham,” said I. 

“Yes; and we are not the only distinguished people 
who repose in this place. The daughter of no less a 
person than Richard Cromwell is buried here; the tomb 
is still standing—but perhaps you have been here be- 
fore, and know it.” 

“T don’t think I have ever been here before; and 
yet there is something about the place that seems fa- 
miliar.” I looked around, cudgeling my brains for 
the key to the dimly reminiscent sensations that the 
place evoked; until, suddenly, I caught sight of a group | 
of buildings away to the west, enclosed within a wall 
heightened by a wooden trellis. 

“Yes, of course!” I exclaimed. “I remember the 
place now. I have never been in this part before, but 
in that enclosure beyond, which opens at the end of 
Henrietta Street, there used to be and may be still, 
for all I know, a school of anatomy, at which I attended 
in my first year; in fact, I did my first dissection there.” 

“There was a certain gruesome appropriateness in 
the position of the school,” remarked Miss Bellingham. 
“Tt would have been really convenient in the days 
of the resurrection men. Your material would have 
been delivered at your very door. Was it a large 
school?” 

“The attendance varied according to the time of the 
year. Sometimes I worked there quite alone. I used 
to let myself in with a key and hoist my subject out 
of a sort of sepulchral tank by means of a chain t | 
It was a ghoulish business. You have no idea how 
awful the body used to look to my unaccustomed eyes, 


ee 






CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 237 





as it rose slowly out of the tank. It was like the 
resurrection scene that you see on some old tomb- 
stones, where the deceased is shown rising out of his a 
coffin while the skeleton, Death, falls vanquished with y 
his dart shattered and his crown toppling off, 

“T remember, too, that the demonstrator used to wear 
a blue apron, which created a sort of impression of a 
cannibal butcher’s shop. But I am afraid I am shock- 
ing you.” | 

“No you are not. Every profession has its unpre- 
sentable aspects, which ought not to be seen by out- 
siders. Think of the sculptor’s studio and of the 
sculptor himself when he is modeling a large figure or 
a group in clay. He might be a bricklayer or a road- 
sweeper if you judge by his appearance. This is the 
tomb I was telling you about.” 

We halted before the plain coffer of stone, weathered 
and wasted by age, but yet kept in decent repair by 
some pious hands, and read the inscription, setting 
forth with modest pride, that here reposed Anna, sixth 
daughter of Richard Cromwell, “The Protector.” It 
was a simple monument and commonplace enough, with 
the crude severity of the ascetic age to which it be- 
longed. But still, it carried the mind back to those 
stirring times when the leafy shades of Gray’s Inn 
Lane must have resounded with the clank of weapons 
and the tramp of armed men; when this bald recre- 
ation-ground was a rustic churchyard, standing amidst 
green fields and hedgerows, and countrymen leading 
their pack-horses into London through the Lane would 
stop to look in over the wooden gate. 
| Miss Bellingham looked at me critically as I stood 
en reflecting, and presently remarked: “I think you 

and I have a good many mental habits in common.” 








ail | a 


238 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


I looked up inquiringly, and she continued: “TI no- 
tice that an old tombstone seems to set you meditating, 
So it does me. When I look at an ancient monument, 


- and especially an old headstone, I find myself almost 


unconsciously retracing the years to the date that is 
written on the stone. Why do you think that is? 
Why should a monument be so stimulating to the ima- 
gination? And why should a common headstone be 
more so than any other?” 

“TI suppose it is,” I answered reflectively, “that a 
churchyard monument is a peculiarly personal thing 
and appertains in a peculiar way to a particular time. 
And the circumstance that it has stood untouched by 
the passing years while everything around has changed, 
helps the imagination to span the interval. And the 
common headstone, the memorial of some dead and 
gone farmer or laborer who lived and died in the vil- 
lage hard by, is still more intimate and suggestive. 
The rustic, childish sculpture of the village mason 
and the artless doggerel of the village schoolmaster, 
bring back the time and place and the conditions of life 
more vividly than the more scholarly inscriptions and 
the more artistic enrichments of monuments of greater 
pretensions. But where are your own family tomb- 
stones?” 

“They are over in that farther corner. There is an 
intelligent, but inopportune, person apparently copy- 
ing the epitaphs. I wish he would go away. I want to 
show them to you.” 

I now noticed, for the first time, an individual en- 
gaged, notebook in hand, in making a careful survey 
of a group of old headstones. Evidently he was mak- 
ing a copy of the inscriptions, for not only was he por- 
ing attentively over the writing on the face of the 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 239 


stone, but now and again he helped out his vision by _ 


running his fingers over the worn lettering. 
“That is my grandfather’s tombstone that he is copy- 


_ ing now,” said Miss Bellingham; and even as she spoke, 


‘the man turned and directed a searching glance at us 
with a pair of keen, spectacled eyes. 

Simultaneously we uttered an exclamation of sur- 
prise; for the investigator was Mr. Jellicoe. 





* 


CHAPTER XVI 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 


WHETHER or not Mr. Jellicoe was surprised to see 
us, it is impossible to say. His countenance (which 
served the ordinary purposes of a face, inasmuch as 
it contained the principal organs of special sense, with 
inlets to the alimentary and respiratory tracts) was, as 
an apparatus for the expression of the emotions, a total 
failure. To a thought-reader it would have been about 
as helpful as the face carved upon the handle of an 
umbrella; a comparison suggested, perhaps, by a cer- 
tain resemblance to such an object. He advanced, hold- 
ing open his notebook and pencil, and having saluted 
us with a stiff bow and an old-fashioned flourish of his 
hat, shook hands rheumatically and waited for us to 
speak. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Jellicoe,” said 
Miss Bellingham. 

“Tt is very good of you to say so,” he replied. 

‘“‘And quite a coincidence—that we should all hap- 
pen to come here on the same day.” 

“A coincidence, certainly,” he admitted; ‘and if we 
had all happened not to come—which must have oc- 
curred frequently—that also would have been a coinci- 
dence.” 

“T suppose it would,” said she, “but I hope we are 
not interrupting you.” 

“Thank you, no. I had just finished when I had the 
pleasure of perceiving you.” 

240 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 241 


“You were making some notes in reference to the 
case, I imagine,” said I. It was an impertinent ques- 
tion, put with malice aforethought for the mere pleasure 
of hearing him evade it. 

“The case?” he repeated. ‘You are referring, per- 
haps, to Stevens versus the Parish Council?” 

“T think Doctor Berkeley was referring to the case 
of my uncle’s will,” Miss Bellingham said quite gravely, 
though with a suspicious dimpling about the corners 
of her mouth. 

“Indeed,” said Mr. Jellicoe. ‘There is a case, is 
there; a suit?” 

“T mean the proceedings instituted by Mr. Hurst.” 

“Oh, but that was merely an application to the 
Court, and is, moreover, finished and done with. At 
least, so I understand. I speak, of course, subject to 
correction; I am not acting for Mr. Hurst, you will be 
pleased to remember. As a matter of fact,” he con- 
tinued, after a brief pause, “I was just refreshing my 
memory as to the wording of the inscriptions on these 
stones, especially that of your grandfather, Francis 
Bellingham. It has occurred to me that if it should ap- 
pear by the finding of the coroner’s jury that your 
uncle is deceased, it would be proper and decorous that 
some memorial should be placed here. But, as the 
burial ground is closed, there might be some difficulty 
about erecting a new monument, whereas there would 
probably be none in adding an inscription to one al- 
ready existing. Hence these investigations. For if the 
inscriptions on your grandfather’s stone had set forth 
that ‘here rests the body of Francis Bellingham,’ it 
would have been manifestly improper to add ‘also that 
of John Bellingham, son of the above.’ Fortunately 
the inscription was more discreetly drafted, merely re- 


e®? 


242 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


cording the fact that this monument is ‘sacred to the 
memory of the said Francis,’ and not committing itself 
as to the whereabouts of the remains. But perhaps I 
am interrupting you.” 

“No, not at all,” replied Miss Bellingham (which was 
grossly untrue; he was interrupting me most intoler- 
ably); “‘we were going to the British Museum and just 
looked in here on our way.” 

“Ha,” said Mr. Jellicoe, ‘“‘now, I happen to be going 
to the Museum too, to see Doctor Norbury. I suppose 
that is another coincidence?” 

“Certainly it is,” Miss Bellingham replied; and then 
she asked: “Shall we walk together?” and the old 
curmudgeon actually said “‘yes”—confound him! 

We returned to the Gray’s Inn Road, where, as there 
was now room for us to walk abreast, I proceeded to-in- 
demnify myself for the lawyer’s unwelcome company 
by leading the conversation back to the subject of the 
missing man. 

Was there anything, Mr. Jellicoe, in Mr. John Bell- 
ingham’s state of health that would make it probable 
that he might die suddenly?” 

The lawyer looked at me suspiciously for a few mo- 
ments and then remarked: 

“You seem to be greatly interested in John Belling- 
ham and his affairs.” 

“Tam. My friends are deeply concerned in them, 
and the case itself is of more than common interest 
from a professional point of view.” 

‘“‘And what is the bearing of this particular ques- 
tion?” 

“Surely it is obvious,” said I. “If a missing man is 
known to have suffered from some affection, such as ~ 
heart disease, aneurism, or arterial degeneration, likely 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 243 


to produce sudden death, that fact will surely be highly 
material to the question as to whether he is probably 
dead or alive.” 

“No doubt you are right,” said Mr. Jellicoe. “I have 
little knowledge of medical affairs, but doubtless you 
are right. As to the question itself, I am Mr. Belling- 
ham’s lawyer, not his doctor. His health is a matter 
that lies outside my jurisdiction. But you heard my 
evidence in Court, to the effect that the testator ap- 
peared, to my untutored observation, to be a healthy 
man. I can say no more now.” 

“Tf the question is of any importance,” said Miss Bel- 
lingham, “I wonder they did not call his doctor and 
settle it definitely. My own impression is that he was 
—or is—rather a strong and sound man. He cer- 
tainly recovered very quickly and completely after his 
accident.” 

“What accident was that?” I asked. 

“Oh, hasn’t my father told you? It occurred while 
he was staying with us. He slipped from a curb and 
broke one of the bones of the left ankle—somebody’s 
fracture——” 

“Pott’s?” 

“Yes; that was the name—Pott’s fracture; and he 
broke both his knee-caps as well. Sir Morgan Bennett 
had to perform an operation, or he would have been a 
cripple for life. As it was, he was about again in a 
few weeks, apparently none the worse excepting for a 
slight weakness of the left ankle.” 

“Could he walk upstairs?” I asked. 

“Oh, yes; and play golf and ride a bicycle.” 

“You are sure he broke both knee-caps?” 

“Quite sure. I remember that it was mentioned as 


244 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


an uncommon injury, and that Sir Morgan seemed quite 
pleased with him for doing it.” 

“That sounds rather libelous; but I expect he was 
pleased with the result of the operation. He might well 
be.” 

Here there was a brief lull in the conversation, and, 
even as I was trying to think of a poser for Mr. Jellicoe, 
that gentleman took the opportunity to change the 
subject. 

“Are you going to the Egyptian rooms?” he asked. 

“No,” replied Miss Bellingham; ‘‘we are going to 
look at the pottery.” 

“Ancient or modern?” 

“That old Fulham ware is what chiefly interests us at 
present; that of the seventeenth century. I don’t know 
whether you call that ancient or modern.” 

“Neither do I,” said Mr. Jellicoe. “Antiquity and 
modernity are terms that have no fixed connotation. 
They are purely relative and their application in a par- 
ticular instance has to be determined by a sort of slid- 
ing scale. To a furniture collector, a Tudor chair or a 
Jacobean chest is ancient; to an architect, their period 
is modern, whereas an eleventh-century church is an- 
cient; but to an Egyptologist, accustomed to remains 
of a vast antiquity, both are products of modern periods 
separated by an insignificant interval. And, I sup- 
pose,” he added reflectively, “that to a geologist, the 
traces of the very earliest dawn of human history ap- 
pertain only to the recent period. Conceptions of 
time, like all other conceptions, are relative.” 

“You would appear to be a disciple of Herbert 
Spencer,” I remarked. 

“T am a disciple of Arthur Jellicoe, sir,” he retorted. 
And I believed him. 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 245 


By the time we had reached the Museum he had 
become almost genial; and, if less amusing in this 
frame, he was so much more instructive and entertain- 
ing that I refrained from baiting him, and permitted 
him to discuss his favorite topic unhindered, especially 
since my companion listened with lively interest. Nor, 
when we entered the great hall, did he relinquish pos- 
session of us, and we followed submissively, as he led 
the way past the winged bulls of Nineveh and the 
great seated statues, until we found ourselves, almost 
without the exercise of our volition, in the upper room 
amidst the glaring mummy cases that had witnessed the 
birth of my friendship with Ruth Bellingham. 

“Before I leave you,” said Mr. Jellicoe, “I should 
like to show you that mummy that we were discussing 
the other evening; the one, you remember, that my 
friend, John Bellingham, presented to the Museum a 
little time before his disappearance. The point that 
I mentioned is only a trivial one, but it may become 
of interest hereafter if any plausible explanation should 
be forthcoming.” He led us along the room until we 
arrived at the case containing John Bellingham’s gift, 
where he halted and gazed in at the mummy with the 
affectionate reflectiveness of the connoisseur. 

“The bitumen coating was what we were discussing, 
Miss Bellingham,” said he. ‘You have seen it, of 
course.” 

“Ves,” she answered. “It is a dreadful disfigurement, 
isn’t it?” 

Esthetically it is to be deplored, but it adds a cer- 
tain speculative interest to the specimen. You notice 
that the black coating leaves the principal decoration 
and the whole of the inscription untouched, which is 
precisely the part that one would expect to find covered 


246 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


up; whereas the feet and the back, which probably 
bore no writing, are quite thickly crusted. If you 
stoop down, you can see that the bitumen was daubed 
freely into the lacings of the back, where it served no 
purpose, so that even the strings are embedded.” He 
stooped as he spoke, and peered up inquisitively at the 
back of the mummy, where it was visible between the 
supports. 

“Has Doctor Norbury any explanation to offer?” 
asked Miss Bellingham. : 

“None whatever,” replied Mr. Jellicoe. ‘He finds 
it as great a mystery as I do. But he thinks that we 
may get some suggestion from the Director when he 
comes back. He is a very great authority, as you 
know, and a practical excavator of great experience too. 
But I mustn’t stay here talking of these things, and 
keeping you from your pottery. Perhaps I have stayed 
too long already. If I have I ask your pardon, and I 
will now wish you a very good afternoon.” With a sud- 
den return to his customary wooden impassivity, he 
shook hands with us, bowed stiffly, and took himself off 
toward the curator’s office. 

‘“‘What a strange man that is,” said Miss Bellingham, 
as Mr. Jellicoe disappeared through the doorway at 
the end of the room, “or perhaps I should say, a strange 
being, for I can hardly think of him as a man. I have 
never met any other human creature at all like him.” 

“He is certainly a queer old fogey,” I agreed. 

“Yes, but there is something more than that. He is 
so emotionless, so remote and aloof from all mundane 
concerns. He moves among ordinary men and women, 
but as a mere presence, an unmoved spectator of their 
actions, quite dispassionate and impersonal.” 

“Yes; he is astonishingly self-contained; in fact, he 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 247 


seems, aS you Say, to go to and fro among men, envel- 
oped in a sort of infernal atmosphere of his own, like 
Marley’s ghost. But he is lively and human enough as 
soon as the subject of Egyptian antiquities is broached.” 

“Lively, but not human. He is always, to me, quite 
unhuman. Even when he is most interested, and even 
enthusiastic, he is a mere personification of knowledge. 
Nature ought to have furnished him with an ibis’s head 
like Tahuti; then he would have looked his part.” 

“He would have made a rare sensation in Lincoln’s 
Inn if he had,” said I; and we both laughed heartily 
at the imaginary picture of Tahuti Jellicoe, slender- 
beaked and top-hatted, going about his business in 
Lincoln’s Inn and the Law Courts. 

Insensibly, as we talked, we had drawn near to the 
mummy of Artemidorus, and now my companion halted 
before the case with her thoughtful gray eyes bent 
dreamily on the face that looked out at us. I watched 
her with reverent admiration. How charming she 
looked as she stood with her sweet, grave face turned so 
earnestly to the object of her mystical affection! How 
dainty and full of womanly dignity and grace! And 
then suddenly it was borne in upon me that a great 
change had come over her since the day of our first 
meeting. She had grown younger, more girlish, and 
more gentle. At first she had seemed much older 
than I; a sad-faced woman, weary, solemn, enigmatic, 
almost gloomy, with a bitter, ironic humor and a bear- 
ing distant and cold. Now she was only maidenly and 
sweet; tinged, it is true, with a certain seriousness, but 
frank and gracious and wholly lovable. 

Could the change be due to our friendship? As I 
asked myself the question, my heart leaped with a new 
hope. I yearned to tell her all that she was to me—all 


248 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


that I hoped we might be to one another in the years 
to come. 

At length I ventured to break in upon her reverie. 

“What are you thinking about so earnestly, fair 
lady?” 

She turned quickly with a bright smile and sparkling 
eyes that looked frankly into mine. “I was wonder- 
ing,” said she, “if he was jealous of my new friend. But 
what a baby I am to talk such nonsense!” 

She laughed softly and happily with just an adorable 
hint of shyness. 

“Why should he be jealous?” I asked. 

“Well, you see, before—we were friends, he had me 
all to himself. I have never had a man friend before— 
except my father—and no really intimate friend at all. 
And I was very lonely in those days, after our troubles 
had befallen. I am naturally solitary, but still, I am 
only a girl; Iam not a philosopher. So when I felt very 
lonely, I used to come here and look at Artemidorus 
and make believe that he knew all the sadness of my life 
and sympathized with me. It was very silly, I know, 
but yet, somehow it was a real comfort to me.” 

“Tt was not silly of you at all. He must have been a 
good man, a gentle, sweet-faced man who had won the 
love of those who knew him, as this beautiful memorial 
tells; and it was wise and good of you to sweeten the 
bitterness of your life with the fragrance of this hu- 
man love that blossoms in the dust after the lapse of 
centuries. No, you were not silly, and Artemidorus is 
not jealous of your new friend.” 

‘“‘Are you sure?” She still smiled as she asked the 
question, but her glance was soft—almost tender—and 
there was a note of whimsical anxiety in her voice. 

“Quite sure. I give you my confident assurance.” 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 249 


She laughed gaily. “Then,” said she, “I am satisfied, 
for I am sure you know. But here is a mighty tele- 
pathist who can read the thoughts even of a mummy. 
A most formidable companion. -But tell me how you 
know.” 

“I know because it is he who gave you to me to be 
my friend. Don’t you remember?” 

“Yes, I remember,” she answered softly. “It was 
when you were so sympathetic with my foolish whim 
that I felt we were really friends.” 

“And I, when you confided your pretty fancy to me, 
thanked you for the gift of your friendship, and treas- 
ured it, and do still treasure it, above everything on 
earth.” 

She looked at me quickly with a sort of nervousness 
in her manner, and cast down her eyes. Then, after a 
few moments’ almost embarrassed silence, as if to bring 
back our talk to a less emotional plane, she said: 

“Do you notice the curious way in which this me- 
morial divides itself up into two parts?” 

“How do you mean?” I asked a little disconcerted 
by the sudden descent. 

“T mean that there is a part of it that is purely deco- 
rative and a part that is expressive or emotional. You 
notice that the general design and scheme of decora- 
tion, although really Greek in feeling, follows rigidly 
the Egyptian conventions. But the portrait is entirely 
in the Greek manner, and when they came to that 
pathetic farewell, it had to be spoken in their own 
tongue, written in their own familiar characters.” 

“Yes. I have noticed that and admired the taste 
with which they have kept the inscription so inconspicu- 
ous as not to clash with the decoration. An obtrusive 


250 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


inscription in Greek characters would have spoiled the 
consistency of the whole scheme.” 

“Yes, it would.” She assented absently as if she were 
thinking of something else, and once more gazed 
thoughtfully at the mummy. I watched her with deep 
content: noted the lovely contour of her cheek, the soft 
masses of hair that strayed away so gracefully from her 
brow, and thought her the most wonderful creature that 
had ever trod the earth. Suddenly she looked at me 
reflectively 

“T wonder,” she said, ‘“what made me tell you about 
Artemidorus. It was a rather silly, childish sort of 
make-believe, and I wouldn’t have told anyone else for 
the world; not even my father. How did I know that 
you would sympathize and understand?” 

She asked the question in all simplicity with her 
serious gray eyes looking inquiringly into mine. And 
the answer came to me in a flash, with the beating of 
my own heart. 

“T will tell you how you know, Ruth,” I whispered 
passionately. ‘It was because I loved you more than 
anyone else in the world has ever loved you, and you 
felt my love in your heart and called it sympathy.” 

I stopped short, for she had blushed scarlet and then 
turned deathly pale. And now she looked at me wildly, 
almost with terror. 

“Have I shocked you, Ruth dearest?” I exclaimed 
penitently, “have I spoken too soon? If I have, for- 
give me. But I had totell you. I have been eating my 
heart out for love of you for I don’t know how long. 
‘ I think I have loved you from the first day we met. Per- 
haps I shouldn’t have spoken yet, but, Ruth dear, if 
you only knew what a sweet girl you are, you wouldn’t 
blame me.” 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 251 


“T don’t blame you,” she said, almost in a whisper; 
“I blame myself. I have been a bad friend to you, who 
have been so loyal and loving to me. I ought not to 
have let this happen. For it can’t be, Paul; I can’t say 
what you want me to say. We can never be anything 
more to one another than friends.” 

A cold hand seemed to grasp my heart—a horrible 
fear that I had lost all that I cared for—all that made 
life desirable. 

“Why can’t we?” I asked. “Do you mean that— 
that the gods have been gracious to some other man?” 

“No, no,” she answered hastily—almost indignantly, 
“of course I don’t mean that.” 

“Then it is only that you don’t love me yet. Of 
course you don’t. Why should you? But you will, dear, 
some day. And I will wait patiently until that day 
comes and not trouble vou with entreaties. I will wait 
for you as Jacob waited for Rachel; and as the long 
years seemed to him but as a few days because of the 
love he bore her, so it shall be with me, if only you will 
not send me away quite without hope.” 

She was looking down, white-faced, with a harden- 
ing of the lips as if she were in bodily pain. “You 
don’t understand,” she whispered. ‘It can’t be—it can 
never be. There is something that makes it impossible, 
now and always. I can’t tell you more than that.” 

“But, Ruth dearest,” I pleaded despairingly, ‘““may 
it not become possible some day? Can it not be made 
possible? I can wait, but I can’t give you up. Is there 
no chance whatever that this obstacle may be re- 
moved?” 

“Very little, I fear. Hardly any. No, Paul; it is 
hopeless, and I can’t bear to talk about it. Let me go 
now. Let us say good-by here and see one another no 


252 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


more for a while. Perhaps we may be friends again 
some day—when you have forgiven me.” 

“Forgiven you, dearest!’ I exclaimed. “There is 
nothing to forgive. And we are friends, Ruth. What- 
ever happens, you are the dearest friend I have on 
earth, or can ever have.” 

“Thank you, Paul,” she said faintly. “You are very 
good to me. But let me go, please. I must be alone.” 

She held out a trembling hand, and, as I took it, I 
was shocked to see how terribly agitated and ill she 
looked. : 

“May I not come with you, dear?” I pleaded. 

“No, no!” she exclaimed breathlessly; “‘I must go 
away by myself. I want to be alone. Good-by.” 

“Before I let you go, Ruth—if you ral go—l must 
have a most solemn promise from you.” 

Her sad gray eyes met mine and her lips quivered 
with an unspoken question. 

““You must promise me,” I went on, “that if ever this 
barrier that parts us should be removed, you will let me 
know instantly. Remember that I love you always, and 
that I am waiting for you always on this side of the 
grave.” 

She caught her breath in a quick little sob, and 
pressed my hand. 

“Yes,” she whispered: “I promise. Good-by.” 

“She pressed my hand again and was gone; and, as I 
gazed at the empty doorway through which she had 
passed, I caught a glimpse of her reflection in a glass on 
the landing, where she had paused for a moment to wipe 
her eyes. I felt it, in a manner, indelicate to have seen 
her, and turned away my head quickly; and yet I was 
conscious of a certain selfish satisfaction in the sweet 
sympathy that her grief bespoke. 


O ARTEMIDORUS, FAREWELL! 253 


But now that she was gone a horrible sense of desola- 
tion descended on me. Only now, by the consciousness 
of irreparable loss, did I begin to realize the meaning 
of this passion of love that had stolen unawares into 
my life. How it had glorified the present and spread 
a glamor of delight over the dimly considered future: 
how all pleasures and desires, hopes and ambitions, had 
converged upon it as a focus; how it had stood out as 
the one great reality behind which the other circum- 
stances of life were as a background, shimmering, 
half seen, immaterial and unreal. And now it was 
gone—lost, as it seemed, beyond hope; and that which 
was left to me was but the empty frame from which the 
picture had vanished. 

I have no idea how long I stood rooted to the spot 
where she had left me, wrapped in a dull consciousness 
of pain, immersed in a half-numb reverie. Recent 
events flitted, dream-like, through my mind; our happy 
labors in the reading-room; our first visit to the Mu- 
seum; and this present day that had opened so brightly 
and with such joyous promise. One by one these phan- 
toms of a vanished happiness came and went. Occa- 
sional visitors sauntered into the room—but the galler- 
ies were mostly empty that day—gazed inquisitively at 
my motionless figure, and went their way. And still the 
dull, intolerable ache in my breast went on, the only 
vivid consciousness that was left to me. 

Presently I raised my eyes and met those of the por- 
trait. The sweet, pensive face of the old Greek settler 
looked out at me wistfully as though he would offer 
comfort; as though he would tell me that he, too, had 
known sorrow when he lived his life in the sunny Fay- 
yum. And a subtle consolation, like the faint scent of 
old rose leaves, seemed to exhale from that friendly face 


254 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


that had looked on the birth of my happiness and had 
seen it wither and fade. I turned away, at last, with a 
silent farewell; and when I looked back, he seemed 
to speed me on my way with gentle valediction. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 


Or my wanderings after I left the Museum on that 
black and dismal dies ire, I have but a dim recollection. 
But I must have traveled a quite considerable distance, 
since it wanted an hour or two to the time for returning 
to the surgery, and I spent the interval walking swiftly 
through streets and squares, unmindful of the happen- 
ings around, intent only on my present misfortune, and 
driven by a natural impulse to seek relief in bodily ex- 
ertion. For mental distress sets up, as it were, a sort 
of induced current of physical unrest; a beneficent ar- 
rangement, by which a dangerous excess of emotional 
excitement may be transformed into motor energy, and 
so safely got rid of. The motor apparatus acts as a 
safety-valve to the psychical; and if the engine races 
for a while, with the onset of a bodily fatigue the emo- 
tional pressure-gauge returns to a normal reading. 

And so it was with me. At first I was conscious of 
nothing but a sense of utter bereavement, of the ship- 
wreck of all my hopes. But, by degrees, as I threaded 
my way among the moving crowds, I came to a better 
and more worthy frame of mind. After all, I had lost 
nothing that I had ever had. Ruth was still all that 
she had ever been to me—perhaps even more; and if 
that had been a rich endowment yesterday, why not 
to-day also? And how unfair it would be to her if I 
should mope and grieve over a disappointment that was 

255 


256 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


no fault of hers and for which there was no remedy? 
Thus I reasoned with myself, and to such purpose that, 
by the time I reached Fetter Lane, my dejection had 
come to quite manageable proportions and I had formed 
the resolution to get back to the status quo ante bellum 
as soon as possible. 

About eight o’clock, as I was sitting alone in the 
consulting-room, gloomily persuading myself that I was 
now quite resigned to the inevitable, Adolphus brought 
me a registered packet, at the handwriting on which 
my heart gave such a bound that I had much ado to 
sign the receipt. As soon as Adolphus had retired 
(with undissembled contempt of the shaky signature) 
I tore open the packet, and as I drew out a letter a 
tiny box dropped on the table. 

The letter was all too short, and I devoured it over 
and over again with the eagerness of a condemned man 
reading a reprieve: 


“My DEAR PAUL, 

“Forgive me for leaving you so abruptly this af- 
ternoon, and leaving you so unhappy, too. I am 
more sane and reasonable now, and so send you 
greeting and beg you not to grieve for that which can 
never be. It is quite impossible, dear friend, and I 
entreat you, as you care for me, never to speak of it 
again; never again to make me feel that I can give 
you so little when you have given so much. And do 
not try to see me for alittle while. I shall miss your 
visits, and so will my father, who is very fond of 
you; but it ts better that we should not meet, until 
we can take up our old relattions—+f that can ever be. 

“T am sending you a little keepsake im case we 
should drift apart on the eddies of life. It is the ring 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 257 


thaé I told you about—the one that my uncle gave 
me. Perhaps you may be able to wear it as you have 
a small hand, but in any case keep it in remembrance 
of our friendship. The device on it is the Eye of 
Osiris, a mystic symbol for which I have a senti- 
mentally superstitious affection, as also had my poor 
uncle, who actually bore it tattooed in scarlet on his 
breast. It signifies that the great judge of the dead 
looks down on men to see that justice is done and 
that truth prevails. So I commend you to the good 
Osiris; may his eye be upon you, ever watchful over 
your welfare in the absence of 
“Vour affectionate friend, 
“RUTH.” 


It was a sweet letter, I thought, even if it carried 
little comfort; quiet and reticent like its writer, but 
with an undertone of affection. I laid it down at 
length, and, taking the ring from its box, examined it 
fondly. Though but a copy, it had all the quaintness 
and feeling of the antique original, and, above all, it 
was fragrant with the spirit of the giver. Dainty and 
delicate, wrought of silver and gold, with an inlay of 
copper, I would not have exchanged it for the Koh- 
i-noor; and when I had slipped it on my finger its tiny 
eye of blue enamel looked up at me so friendly and 
companionable that I felt the glamour of the old-world 
superstition stealing over me too. 

Not a single patient came in this evening, which was 
well for me (and also for the patient), as I was able 
forthwith to write in reply a long letter; but this I 
shall spare the long-suffering reader excepting its con- 
cluding paragraph: 


258 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“And now, dearest, I have said my say; once for 
all I have said it, and I will not open my mouth on 
the subject again (I am not actually opening it now) 
‘until the times do alter.’ And if the times do never 
alter—if it shall come to pass, in due course, that we 
two shall sit side by side, white-haired, and crinkly- 
nosed, and lean our poor old chins upon our sticks 
and mumble and gibber amicably over the things that 
might have been if the good Osiris had come up to 
the scratch—I will still be content, because your 
friendship, Ruth, is better than another woman’s 
love. So you see, I have taken my gruel and come up 
to time smiling—if you will pardon the pugilistic 
metaphor—and I promise you loyally to do your bid- 
ding and never again to distress you. 

“Your faithful and loving friend, 
“PAUL.” 


This letter I addressed and stamped, and then, with 
a wry grimace which I palmed off on myself (but not 
on Adolphus) as a cheerful smile, I went out and 
dropped it into the post-box; after which I further de- 
luded myself by murmuring Nunc dimittis and assuring © 
myself that the incident was now absolutely closed. 

But despite this comfortable assurance I was, in the 
days that followed, an exceedingly miserable young 
man. It is all very well to write down troubles of this 
kind as trivial and sentimental. They are nothing of 
the kind. When a man of essentially serious nature has 
found the one woman of all the world who fulfils his 
highest ideals of womanhood, who is, in fact, a woman 
in ten thousand, to whom he has given all that he has 
to give of love and worship, the sudden wreck of all 
his hopes is no small calamity. And so I found it. 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 259 


Resign myself as I would to the bitter reality, the ghost 
of the might-have-been haunted me night and day, so 
that I spent my leisure wandering abstractedly about 
the streets, always trying to banish thought and never 
for an instant succeeding. A great unrest was upon 
me; and when I received a letter from Dick Barnard 
announcing his arrival at Madeira, homeward bound, I 
breathed a sigh of relief. JI had no plans for the fu- 
ture, but I longed to be rid of the now irksome, routine 
of the practise—to be free to come and go when and 
how I pleased. 

One evening, as I sat consuming with little appetite 
my solitary supper, there fell on me a sudden sense of 
loneliness. ‘The desire that I had hitherto felt to be 
alone with my own miserable reflections gave place to 
a yearning for human companionship. That, indeed, 
which I craved for most was forbidden, and I must 
abide by my lady’s wishes; but there were my friends 
in the Temple. It was more than a week since I had 
seen them; in fact, we had not met since the morning 
of that unhappiest day of my life. They would be 
wondering what had become of me. I rose from the 
table, and having filled my pouch from a tin of tobacco, 
set forth for King’s Bench Walk. 

As I approached the entry of No. 5A in the gathering 
darkness I met Thorndyke himself emerging encum- 
bered with two deck-chairs, a reading-lantern, and a 
book. 

“Why, Berkeley!” he exclaimed, “is it indeed thou? 
We have been wondering what had become of you.” 

“Tt zs a long time since I looked you up,” I admitted. 

He scrutinized me attentively by the light of the 
entry lamp, and then remarked: “Fetter Lane doesn’t 


260 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


seem to be agreeing with you very well, my son. You 
are looking quite thin and peaky.” 

“Well, I’ve nearly done with it. Barnard will be 
back in about ten days. His ship is putting in at 
Madeira to coal and take in some cargo, and then he 
is coming home. Where are you going with those 
chairs?” 

“T am going to sit down at the end of the Walk by 
the railings. It’s cooler there than indoors. If you 
will wait a moment I will go and fetch another chair for 
Jervis, though he won’t be back for a little while.” 
He ran up the stairs, and presently returned with a 
third chair, and we carried our impedimenta down to 
the quiet corner of the Walk. 

“So your term of servitude is coming to an end,” said 
he, when we had placed the chairs and hung the lantern 
on the railings. ‘Any other news?” 

“No. Have you any?” 

“T am afraid I have not. All my inquiries have 
yielded negative results. There is, of course, a consid- 
erable body of evidence, and it all seems to point one 
way. But I am unwilling to make a decisive move 
without something more definite. I am really waiting 
for confirmation or otherwise of my ideas on the sub- 
ject; for some new item of evidence.” 

“T didn’t know there was any evidence.” 

“Didn’t you?” said Thorndyke. “But you know as 
much as I know. You have all the essential facts; 
but apparently you haven’t collated them and extracted 
their meaning. If you had, you would have found 
them curiously significant.” 

“T suppose I mustn’t ask what their significance is?” 

“No, I think not. When I am conducting a case I 
mention my surmises to nobody—not even to Jervis. 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 261 


Then I can say confidently that there has been no leak- 
age. Don’t think I distrust you. Remember that my 
thoughts are my client’s property, and that the essence 
of strategy is to keep the enemy in the dark.” 

“Yes, I see that. Of course I ought not to have 
asked.” 

“You ought not to need to ask,” Thorndyke replied, 
with a smile; ‘‘you should put the facts together and 
reason from them yourself.” 

While we had been talking I had noticed Thorndyke 
glance at me inquisitively from time to time. Now 
after an interval of silence, he asked suddenly: 

“Ts anything amiss, Berkeley? Are you worrying 
about your friends’ affairs?” 

“No, not particularly; though their prospects don’t 
look very rosy.” 

“Perhaps they are not quite so bad as they look,” 
said he. “But I am afraid something is troubling you. 
All your gay spirits seem to have evaporated.” He 
paused for a few moments, and then added: “I don’t 
want to intrude on your private affairs, but if I can help 
you by advice or otherwise, remember that we are old 
friends and that you are my academic offspring.” 

Instinctively, with a man’s natural reticence, I began 
to mumble a half-articulate disclaimer; and then I 
stopped. After all, why should I not confide in him? 
He was a good man and a wise man, full of human 
sympathy, as I knew, though so cryptic and secretive 
in his professional capacity. And I wanted a friend 
badly just now. 

“I’m afraid,” I began shyly, “it is not a matter that 
admits of much help, and it’s hardly the sort of thing 
that I ought to worry you by talking about a 

“Tf it is enough to make you unhappy, my dear fel- 





262 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


low, it is enough to merit serious consideration by your 
friend; so if you don’t mind telling me " 

“Of course I don’t, sir!” I exclaimed. 

“Then fire away; and don’t call me ‘sir.’ We are 
brother practitioners now.” 

Thus encouraged, I poured out the story of my little 
romance; bashfully at first and with halting phrases, 
but later, with more freedom and confidence. He lis- 
tened with grave attention, and once or twice put a 
question when my narrative became a little discon- 
nected. When [I had finished he laid his hand softly 
on my arm, 

“You have had rough luck, Berkeley. I don’t won- 
der that you are miserable. I am more sorry than I 
can tell you.” 

“Thank you,” I said. ‘It’s exceedingly good of you 
to listen so patiently, but it’s a shame for me to pester 
you with my sentimental troubles.” 

“Now, Berkeley, you don’t think that, and I hope 
you don’t think that I do. We should be bad biolo- 
gists and worse physicians if we should underestimate 
the importance of that which is nature’s chiefest care. 
The one salient biological truth is the paramount im- 
portance of sex; and we are deaf and blind if we do 
not hear and see it in everything that lives when we 
look abroad upon the world; when we listen to the 
spring song of the birds, or when we consider the lilies 
of the field. And as is man to the lower organisms, so is 
human love to their merely reflex manifestations of 
sex. I will maintain, and you will agree with me, I 
know, that the love of a serious and honorable man for 
a woman who is worthy of him is the most momentous 
of all human affairs. It is the foundation of social life, 
and its failure is a serious calamity, not only to those 





THE ACCUSING FINGER 263 


whose lives may be thereby spoilt, but to society at 
large.” 

“It’s a serious enough matter for the parties con- 
cerned,” I agreed; “but that is no reason why they 
should bore their friends.” 

“But they don’t. Friends should help one another 
and think it a privilege.” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t mind coming to you for help, know- 
ing you as I do. But no one can help a poor devil in 
a case like this—and certainly not a medical jurist.” 

“Oh, come, Berkeley!” he protested, ‘‘don’t rate us 
too low. The humblest of creatures has its uses—‘even 
the little pismire,’ you know, as Izaak Walton tells us. 
Why, I have got substantial help from a stamp- 
collector. And then reflect upon the motor-scorcher 
and the earthworm and the blow-fly. All these lowly 
creatures play their parts in the scheme of nature; 
and shall we cast out the medical jurist as nothing 
worth?” 

I laughed dejectedly at my teacher’s genial irony. 

“What I meant,” said I, “‘was that there is nothing 
to be done but wait—perhaps for ever. I don’t know 
why she isn’t able to marry me, and I mustn’t ask her. 
She can’t be married already.” 

“Certainly not. She told you explicitly that there 
was no man in the case.” 

“Exactly. And I can think of no other valid reason, 
excepting that she doesn’t care enough for me. That 
would be a perfectly sound reason, but then it would 
only be a temporary one, not the insuperable obstacle 
that she assumes to exist, especially as we really got 
on excellently together. I hope it isn’t some confounded 
perverse feminine scruple. I don’t see how it could 


264 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


be; but women are most frightfully tortuous and 
wrong-headed at times.” 

“T don’t see,” said Thorndyke, ‘‘why we should cast 
about for perversely abnormal motives when there is 
a perfectly reasonable explanation staring us in the 
face.” 

“Ts there?” I exclaimed. “I see none.” 

“You are, not unnaturally, overlooking some of the 
circumstances that affect Miss Bellingham; but I don’t 
suppose she has failed to grasp their meaning. Do you 
realize what her position really is? I mean with regard 
to her uncle’s disappearance?” 

“T don’t think I quite understand you.” 

“Well, there is no use in blinking the facts,” said 
Thorndyke. ‘The position is this: if John Bellingham 
ever went to his brother’s house at Woodford, it is 
nearly certain that he went there after his visit to 
Hurst. Mind, I say ‘tf he went’; I don’t say that I be- 
lieve he did. But it is stated that he appears to have 
gone there; and if he did go, he was never seen alive 
afterward. Now, he did not go in at the front door. 
No one saw him enter the house. But there was a 
back gate, which John Bellingham knew, and which 
had a bell which rang in the library. And you will 
remember that, when Hurst and Jellicoe called, Mr. 
Bellingham had only just come in. Previous to that 
time Miss Bellingham had been alone in the library; 
that is to say, she was alone in the library at the very 
time when John Bellingham is said to have made his 
visit. That is the position, Berkeley. Nothing pointed 
has been said up to the present. But, sooner or later, 
if John Bellingham is not found, dead or alive, the 
question will be opened. Then it is certain that Hurst, 
in self-defense, will make the most of any facts that 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 265 


may transfer suspicion from him to some one else. 
And that some one else will be Miss Bellingham.” 

I sat for some moments literally paralyzed with hor- 
ror, Then my dismay gave place to indignation. “But 
damn it!” I exclaimed, starting up—“I beg your par- 
don—but could anyone have the infernal audacity to 
insinuate that that gentle, refined lady murdered her 
uncle?” 

“That is what will be hinted, if not plainly asserted; 
and she knows it. And that being so, is it difficult to 
understand why she should refuse to allow you to be 
publicly associated with her? ‘To run the risk of drag- 
ging your honorable name into the sordid transactions 
of the police-court or the Old Bailey? To invest it, 
perhaps, with a dreadful notoriety?” 

“Oh, don’t! for God’s sake! It is too horrible! 
Not that I would care for myself. I would be proud to 
share her martyrdom of ignominy, if it had to be; but 
it is the sacrilege, the blasphemy of even thinking of 
her in such terms that enrages me.” 

“Ves,” said Thorndyke; “I understand and sympa- 
thize with you. Indeed, I share your righteous indig- 
nation at this dastardly affair. So you mustn’t think 
me brutal for putting the case so plainly.” 

“T don’t. You have only shown me the danger that 
I was fool enough not to see. But you seem to imply 
that this hideous position has been brought about de- 
liberately.” 

“Certainly I do! This is no chance affair. Either 
the appearances indicate the real events—which I am 
sure they do not—or they have been created of a set 
purpose to lead to false conclusions. But the circum- 
stances convince me that there has been a deliberate 
plot; and I am waiting—in no spirit of Christian pa- 


266 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


tience, I can tell you—to lay my hand on the wretch 
who has done this.” 

“What are you waiting for?” I asked. 

“TI am waiting for the inevitable,” he replied; “for 
the false move that the most artful criminal invariably 
makes. At present he is lying low; but presently he 
will make a move, and then I shall have him.” 

“But he may go on lying low. What will you do 
then?” 

“Yes, that is the danger. We may have to deal with 
the perfect villain who knows when to leave well 
alone. I have never met him, but he may exist, nev- 
ertheless.” 

‘And then we should have to stand by and see our 
friends go under.” 

“Perhaps,” said Thorndyke; and we both subsided 
into gloomy and silent reflection. 

The place was peaceful and quiet, as only a back- 
water of London can be. Occasional hoots from far- 
away tugs and steamers told of the busy life down 
below in the crowded Pool. A faint hum of traffic was 
borne in from the streets outside the precincts, and the 
shrill voices of newspaper boys came in unceasing 
chorus from the direction of Carmelite Street. They 
were too far away to be physically disturbing, but the 
excited yells, toned down as they were by distance, 
nevertheless stirred the very marrow in my bones, so 
dreadfully suggestive. were they of those possibilities 
of the future at which Thorndyke had hinted. They 
seemed like the sinister shadows of coming misfor- 
tunes. 

Perhaps they called up the same association of ideas 
in Thorndyke’s mind, for he remarked presently: 
“The newsvendor is abroad to-night like a bird of ill- 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 267 


omen. Something unusual has happened; some public 
or private calamity, most likely, and these yelling 
ghouls are out to feast on the remains. The newspaper 
men have a good deal in common with the carrion-birds 
that hover over a battle-field.” 

Again we subsided into silence and reflection. Then, 
after an interval, I asked: 

“Would it be possible for me to help in any way in 
this investigation of yours?” 

“That is exactly what I have been asking myself,” 
replied Thorndyke. “It would be right and proper that 
you should, and I think you might.” 

“How?” I asked eagerly. 

“T can’t say offhand; but Jervis will be going away 
for his holiday almost at once—in fact, he will go off 
actual duty to-night. There is very little doing; the 
long vacation is close upon us, and I can do without 
him. But if you would care to come down here and 
take his place, you would be very useful to me; and 
if there should be anything to be done in the Belling- 
hams’ case, I am sure you would make up in enthusiasm 
for any deficiency in experience.” 

“T couldn’t really take Jervis’s place,” said I, “but 
if you would let me help you in any way it would be a 
great kindness. I would rather clean your boots than 
be out of it altogether.” 

“Very well. Let us leave it that you come here as 
soon as Barnard has done with you. You can have 
Jervis’s room, which he doesn’t often use nowadays, 
and you will be more happy here than elsewhere, I 
know. I may as well give you my latch-key now. I 
have a duplicate upstairs, and you understand that my 
chambers are yours too from this moment.” 

He handed me the latch-key and I thanked him 


268 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


warmly from my heart, for I felt sure that the sugges- 
tion was made, not for any use that I should be to him, 
but for my own peace of mind. I had hardly finished 
speaking when a quick step on the paved walk caught 
my ear, 

“Here is Jervis,” said Thorndyke. ‘We will let him 
know that there is a locum tenens ready to step into his 
shoes when he wants to be off.” He flashed the lan- 
tern across the path, and a few moments later his 
junior stepped up briskly with a bundle of newspapers 
tucked under his arm. 

It struck me that Jervis looked at me a little queerly 
when he recognized me in the dim light; also he was a 
trifle constrained in his manner, as if my presence were 
an embarrassment. He listened to Thorndyke’s an- 
nouncement of our newly made arrangement without 
much enthusiasm and with none of his customary face- 
tious comments. And again I noticed a quick glance at 
me, half curious, half uneasy, and wholly puzzling to 
me. 

“That’s all right,” he said when Thorndyke had ex- 
plained the situation. ‘I daresay you'll find Berkeley 
as useful as me, and, in any case, he’ll be better here 
than staying on with Barnard.” He spoke with un- 
wonted gravity, and there was in his tone a solicitude 
for me that attracted my notice and that of Thorndyke 
as well, for the latter looked at him curiously, though 
he made no comment. After a short silence, however, 
he asked: ‘And what news does my learned brother 
bring? There is a mighty shouting among the outer 
barbarians and I see a bundle of newspapers under my 
learned friend’s arm. Has anything in particular hap- 
pened?” 

Jervis looked more uncomfortable than ever. ‘Well 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 269 


—yes,” he replied hesitatingly, ‘something has hap- 
pened—there! It’s no use beating about the bush; 
Berkeley may as well learn it from me as from those 
yelling devils outside.” He took a couple of papers 
from his bundle and silently handed one to me and the 
other to Thorndyke. 

Jervis’s ominous manner, naturally enough, alarmed 
me not a little. I opened the paper with a nameless 
dread. But whatever my vague fears, they fell far 
short of the occasion; and when I saw those yells from 
without crystallized into scare head-lines and flaming 
capitals I turned for a moment sick and dizzy with fear. 

The paragraph was only a short one, and I read it 
through in less than a minute. 


“THE MISSING FINGER 
“DRAMATIC DISCOVERY AT WOODFORD 


“The mystery that has surrounded the remains of 
a mutilated human body, portions of which have been 
found in various places in Kent and Essex, has re- 
ceived a partial and very sinister solution. The po- 
lice have, all along, suspected that those remains were 
those of a Mr. John Bellingham who disappeared 
under circumstances of some suspicion about two 
years ago. There is now no doubt upon the subject, 
for the finger which was missing from the hand that 
was found at Sidcup has been discovered at the bot- 
tom of a disused well together with a ring, which has 
been identified as one habitually worn by Mr. John 
Bellingham. 

“The house in the garden of which the well is 
situated was the property of the murdered man, and 
was occupied at the time of the disappearance by his 


270 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


brother, Mr. Godfrey Bellingham. But the latter 
left it very soon after, and it has been empty ever 
since. Just lately it has been put in repair, and it was 
in this way that the well came to be emptied and 
cleaned out. It seems that Detective-Inspector 
Badger, who was searching the neighborhood for 
further remains, heard of the emptying of the well 
and went down in the bucket to examine the bottom, 
where he found the three bones and the ring. 

“Thus the identity of the body is established be- 
yond all doubt, and the question that remains is, 
Who killed John Bellingham? It may be remem- 
bered that a trinket, apparently broken from his 
watch-chain, was found in the grounds of this house 
on the day that he disappeared, and that he was nev- 
er again seen alive. What may be the import of 
these facts time will show.” 


That was all; but it was enough. I dropped the pa- 
per to the ground and glanced round furtively at Jervis, 
who sat gazing gloomily at the toes of his boots. It 
was horrible! It was incredible! ‘The blow was so 
crushing that it left my faculties numb, and for a while 
I seemed unable even to think intelligibly. 

I was aroused by Thorndyke’s voice—calm, business- 
like, composed: 

“Time will show, indeed! But meanwhile we must 
go warily. And don’t be unduly alarmed, Berkeley. 
Go home, take a good dose of bromide with a little 
stimulant, and turn in. I am afraid this has been 
rather a shock to you.” 

I rose from my chair like one in a dream and held 
out my hand to Thorndyke; and even in the dim light 
and in my dazed condition I noticed that his face bore 


THE ACCUSING FINGER 271 


a look that I had never seen before; the look of a 
granite mask of Fate—grim, stern, inexorable. 

My two friends walked with me as far as the gateway 
at the top of Inner Temple Lane, and as we reached the 
entry a stranger, coming quickly up the Lane, overtook 
and passed us. In the glare of the lamp outside the 
porter’s lodge he looked at us quickly over his shoul- 
der, and though he passed on without halt or greeting, 
I recognized him with a certain dull surprise which I 
did not understand then and do not understand now. 
It was Mr. Jellicoe. 

I shook hands once more with my friends and 
strode out into Fleet Street, but as soon as I was out- 
side the gate I made direct for Nevill’s Court. What 
was in my mind I do not know; only that some instinct 
of protection led me there, where my lady lay uncon- 
scious of the hideous menace that hung over her. At 
the entrance to the Court a tall, powerful man was 
lounging against the wall, and he seemed to look at me 
curiously as I passed; but I hardly noticed him and 
strode forward into the narrow passage. By the shabby 
gateway of the house I halted and looked up at such 
of the windows as I could see over the wall. They were 
all dark. All the inmates, then, were in bed. Vaguely 
comforted by this, I walked on to the New Street end 
of the Court and looked out. Here, too, a man—a 
tall, thick-set man—was loitering; and as he looked in- 
quisitively into my face I turned and reéntered the 
Court, slowly retracing my steps. As I again reached 
the gate of the house I stopped to look once more at 
the windows, and turning I found the man whom I had 
last noticed close behind me. Then, in a flash of 
dreadful comprehension, I understood. These two 
were plainclothes policemen. 


272 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


For a moment a blind fury possessed me. An insane 
impulse urged me to give battle to this intruder; to 
avenge upon this person the insult of his presence. 
Fortunately the impulse was but momentary, and I re- 
covered myself without making any demonstration. 
But the appearance of those two policemen brought the 
peril into the immediate present, imparted to it a hor- 
rible actuality. A chilly sweat of terror stood on my 
forehead, and my ears were ringing when I walked 
with faltering steps out into Fetter Lane. | 


CHAPTER XVIII 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 


THE next few days were a very nightmare of horror 
and gloom. Of course, I repudiated my acceptance of 
the decree of banishment that Ruth had passed upon 
me. I was her friend, at least, and in time of peril my 
place was at her side. Tacitly—though thankfully 
enough, poor girl!—she had recognized the fact and 
made me once more free of the house. 

For there was no disguising the situation. News- 
paper boys yelled the news up and down Fleet Street 
from morning to night; soul-shaking posters grinned 
on gaping crowds; and the newspapers fairly wallowed 
in the “Shocking details.” 

It is true that no direct accusations were made; but 
the original reports of the disappearance were reprinted 
with such comments as made me gnash my teeth with 
fury. 

The wretchedness of those days will live in my mem- 
ory until my dying day. Never can I forget the dread 
that weighed me down, the horrible suspense, the fear 
that clutched at my heart as I furtively scanned the 
posters in the streets. Even the wretched detectives 
who prowled about the entrances to Nevill’s Court be- 
came grateful to my eyes, for, embodying as they did 
the hideous menace that hung over my dear lady, their 
presence at least told me that the blow had not yet fall- 
en. Indeed, we came, after a time, to exchange glances 

273 


274 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


of mutual recognition, and I thought that they seemed 
to be sorry for her and for me, and had no great liking 
for their task. Of course, I spent most of my leisure 
at the old house, though my heart ached more there 
than elsewhere; and I tried, with but poor success, I 
fear, to maintain a cheerful, confident manner, crack- 
ing my little jokes as of old, and even essaying to skir- 
mish with Miss Oman. But this last experiment was a 
dead failure; and when she had suddenly broken down 
in a stream of brilliant repartee to weep hysterically on 
my breast, I abandoned the attempt and did not re- 
peat it. 

A dreadful gloom had settled down upon the old 
house. Poor Miss Oman crept silently but restlessly 
up and down the ancient stairs with dim eyes and a 
tremulous chin, or moped in her room with a parlia- 
mentary petition (demanding, if I remember rightly, 
the appointment of a female judge to deal with divorce 
and matrimonial causes) which lay on her table lan- 
guidly awaiting signatures that never came. Mr. Bel- 
lingham, whose mental condition at first alternated be- 
tween furious anger and absolute panic, was fast sink- 
ing into a state of nervous prostration that I viewed 
with no little alarm. In fact the only really self-pos- 
sessed person in the entire household was Ruth herself, 
and even she could not conceal the ravages of sorrow 
and suspense and overshadowing peril. Her manner 
was almost unchanged; or rather, I should say, she had 
gone back to that which I had first known—aquiet, re- 
served, taciturn, with a certain bitter humor showing 
through her unvarying amiability. When she and I 
were alone, indeed, her reserve melted away and she 
was all sweetness and gentleness. But it wrung my 
heart to look at her, to see how, day by day, she grew 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 275 


ever more thin and haggard; to watch the growing 
pallor of her cheek; to look into her solemn gray eyes, 
so sad and tragic and yet so brave and defiant of fate. 

It was a terrible time; and through it all the dreadful 
questions haunted me continually: When will the blow 
fall? What is it that the police are waiting for? And 
when they do strike, what will Thorndyke have to say? 

So things went on for four dreadful days. But on 
the fourth day, just as the evening consultations were 
beginning and the surgery was filled with waiting pa- 
tients, Polton appeared with a note, which he insisted, 
to the indignation of Adolphus, on delivering into my 
own hands. It was from Thorndyke, and was to the 
following effect: 


“I learn from Dr. Norbury that he has recently 
heard from Herr Lederbogen, of Berlin—a learned 
authority on Oriental antiquities—who makes some 
reference to an English Egyptologist whom he met in 
Vienna about a year ago. He cannot recall the Eng- 
lishman’s name, but there are certain expressions 
in the letter which make Dr. Norbury suspect that 
he is referring to John Bellingham. 

“T want you to bring Mr. and Miss Bellingham to 
my chambers this evening at 8.30, to meet Dr. Nor- 
bury and talk over his letter; and in view of the im- 
portance of the matter, I look to you not to fail me.” 


A wave of hope and relief swept over me. It was 
still possible that this Gordian knot might be cut; that 
the deliverance might come before it was too late. 
I wrote a hasty note to Thorndyke and another to 
Ruth, making the appointment; and having given them 
both to the trusty Polton, returned somewhat feverishly 


276 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


to my professional duties. To my profound relief, the 
influx of patients ceased, and the practise sank into its 
accustomed torpor; whereby I was able without base 
and mendacious subterfuge to escape in good time to 
my tryst. 

It was near upon eight o’clock when I passed through 
the archway into Nevill’s Court. The warm afternoon 
light had died away, for the summer was running out 
apace. The last red glow of the setting sun had faded 
from the ancient roofs and chimney stacks, and down 
in the narrow court the shades of evening had begun to 
gather in nooks and corners. I was due at eight, and, 
as it still wanted some minutes to the hour, I sauntered 
slowly down the court, looking reflectively on the fa- 
miliar scene and the well-known friendly faces. 

The day’s work was drawing to a close. The little 
shops were putting up their shutters; lights were be- 
ginning to twinkle in parlor windows; a solemn hymn 
arose in the old Moravian chapel, and its echoes stole 
out through the dark entry that opens into the court 
under the archway. 

Here was Mr. Finneymore (a man of versatile gifts, 
with a leaning toward paint and varnish) sitting, 
white-aproned and shirt-sleeved, on a chair in his gar- 
den, smoking his pipe with a complacent eye on his 
dahlias. There at an open window a young man, with 
a brush in his hand and another behind his ear, stood 
up and stretched himself while an older lady deftly 
rolled up a large map. The barber was turning out the 
gas in his little saloon; the greengrocer was emerging 
with a cigarette in his mouth and an aster in his button- 
hole, and a group of children were escorting the lamp- 
lighter on his rounds. 

All these good, homely folk were Nevill’s Courtiers 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 277 


of the genuine breed; born in the court, as had been 
their fathers before them for generations. And of such 
to a great extent was the population of the place. 
Miss Oman herself claimed aboriginal descent and so 
did the sweet-faced Moravian lady next door—a con- 
nection of the famous La Trobes of the old Conventicle, 
whose history went back to the Gordon Riots; and as 
to the gentleman who lived in the ancient timber-and- 
plaster house at the bottom of the court, it was reported 
that his ancestors had dwelt in that very house since 
the days of James the First. 

On these facts I reflected as I sauntered down the 
court, on the strange phenomenon of an old-world ham- 
let with its ancient population lingering in the very 
heart of the noisy city; an island of peace set in an 
ocean of unrest, an oasis in a desert of change and 
ferment. 

My meditations brought me to the shabby gate in 
the high wall, and as I raised the latch and pushed it 
open, I saw Ruth standing at the door of the house 
talking to Miss Oman. She was evidently waiting for 
me, for she wore her somber black coat and hat and 
a black veil, and when she saw me she came out, clos- 
ing the door after her, and holding out her hand. 

“You are punctual,” said she. “St. Dunstan’s clock 
is striking now.” 

“Ves,” I answered. ‘But where is your father?” 

“He has gone to bed, poor old dear. He didn’t feel 
well enough to come, and I did not urge him. He is 
really very ill. This dreadful suspense will kill him 
if it goes on much longer.” 

“Let us hope it won’t,” I said, but with little convic- 
tion, I fear, in my tone. 

It was hacrawing to see her torn by anxiety for her 


278 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


father, and I yearned to comfort her. But what was 
there to say? Mr. Bellingham was breaking up vis- 
ibly under the stress of the terrible menace that hung 
over his daughter, and no words of mine could make 
the fact less manifest. 

We walked silently up the court. The lady at the 
window greeted us with a smiling salutation, Mr. Fin- 
neymore removed his pipe and raised his cap, receiving 
a gracious bow from Ruth in return, and then we passed 
through the covered way into Fetter Lane, where my 
companion paused and looked about her. 

“What are you looking for?” I asked. 

“The detective,” she answered quietly. “It would 
be a pity if the poor man should miss me after waiting 
so long. However, I don’t see him.” And she turned 
away toward Fleet Street. It was an unpleasant sur- 
prize to me that her sharp eyes detected the secret spy 
upon her movements; and the dry, sardonic tone of her 
remark pained me too, recalling, as it did, the frigid 
self-possession that had so repelled me in the early days 
of our acquaintance. And yet I could not but admire 
the cool unconcern with which she faced her horrible 
peril. 

“Tell me a little more about this conference,” she 
said, as we walked down Fetter Lane. ‘Your note was — 
rather more concise than lucid; but I suppose you 
wrote it in a hurry.” 

“Yes, I did. And I can’t give you any details now. 
All I know is that Doctor Norbury has had a letter 
from a friend of his in Berlin, an Egyptologist, as I 
understand, named Lederbogen, who refers to an Eng- 
lish acquaintance of his and Norbury’s whom he saw 
in Vienna about a year ago. He cannot remember the 
Englishman’s name, but from some of the circumstances 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 279 


Norbury seems to think that he is referring to your 
Uncle John. Of course, if this should turn out to be 
really the case, it would set everything straight; so 
Thorndyke was anxious that you and your father 
should meet Norbury and talk it over.” 

“I see,” said Ruth. Her tone was thoughtful but by 
no means enthusiastic. 

“You don’t seem to attach much importance to the 
matter,”’ I remarked. 

“No. It doesn’t seem to fit the circumstances. What 
is the use of suggesting that poor Uncle John is alive— 
and behaving like an imbecile, which he certainly was 
not—when his dead body has actually been found?” 

“But,” I suggested lamely, “there may be some mis- 
take. It may not be his body after all.” 

“And the ring?” she asked, with a bitter smile. 

“That may be just a coincidence. It was a copy of a 
well-known form of antique ring. Other people may 
have had copies made as well as your uncle. Besides,”’ 
I added with more conviction, ‘we haven’t seen the 
ring. It may not be his at all.” 

She shook her head. “My dear Paul,” she said 
quietly, ‘“‘it is useless-to delude ourselves. Every known 
fact points to the certainty that it is his body. John 
Bellingham is dead: there can be no doubt of that. 
And to every one except his unknown murderer and 
one or two of my own loyal friends, it must seem that 
his death lies at my door. I realized from the begin- 
ning that the suspicion lay between George Hurst and 
me; and the finding of the ring fixes it definitely on 
me. I am only surprised that the police have made no 
move yet.” 

The quiet conviction of her tone left me for a while 
speechless with horror and despair. Then I recalled 


280 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Thorndyke’s calm, even confident, attitude, and I has- 
tened to remind her of it. 

“There is one of your friends,” I said, ‘who is still 
undismayed. Thorndyke seems to anticipate no diffi- 
culties.” 

‘“‘And yet,” she replied, “he is ready to consider a 
forlorn hope like this. However, we shall see.” 

I could think of nothing more to say, and it was in 
gloomy silence that we pursued our way down Inner 
Temple Lane and through the dark entries and tunnel- 
like passages that brought us out, at length, by the 
Treasury. 

“T don’t see any light in Thorndyke’s chambers,” I 
said, as we crossed King’s Bench Walk; and I pointed 
out the row of windows all dark and blank. 

“No; and yet the shutters are not closed. He must 
be out.” 

“He can’t be after making an appointment with you 
and your father. It is most mysterious. Thorndyke 
is so very punctilious about his engagements.” 

The mystery was solved, when we reached the land- 
ing, by a slip of paper fixed by a tack on the iron-bound 
“oak.”? 

“A note for P. B. is on the table,” was the laconic 
message: on reading which I inserted my key, swung 
the heavy door outward, and opened the lighter inner 
door. The note was lying on the table and I brought 
it out to the landing to read by the light of the stair- 
case lamp. 


“Apologize to our friends,’ it ran, “for the slight 
change of programme. Norbury is anxious that I 
should get my experiments over before the Director 
returns, so as to save discussion. He has asked me 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 281 


to begin to-night and says he will see Mr. and Miss 
Bellingham here, at the Museum. Please bring them 
along at once. I think some matters of importance 
may transpire at the interview—J. E. T.” 





‘ 


“TI hope you don’t mind,” I said apologetically, when 
I had read the note to Ruth. 

“Of course I don’t,” she replied. ‘I am rather 
pleased. We have so many associations with the dear 
old Museum, haven’t we?” She looked at me for a 
moment with a strange and touching wistfulness and 
then turned to descend the stone stairs. 

At the Temple gate I hailed a hansom, and we were 
soon speeding westward and north to the soft twinkle 
of the horse’s bell. 

‘What are these experiments that Doctor Thorndyke 
refers to?” she asked presently. 

“T can only answer you vaguely,” I replied. ‘Their 
object, I believe, is to ascertain whether the penetra- 
bility of organic substances by the X-rays becomes al- 
tered by age; whether, for instance, an ancient block 
of wood is more or less transparent to the rays than 
a new block of the same size.” 

“And of what use would the knowledge be, if it were 
obtained?” 

“I can’t say. Experiments are made to obtain 
knowledge without regard to its utility. The use ap- 
pears when the knowledge has been acquired. But in 
this case, if it should be possible to determine the age 
of any organic substance by its reaction to X-rays, the 
discovery might be found of some value in legal prac- 
tise—as in demonstrating a new seal on an old docu- 
ment, for instance. But I don’t know whether Thorn- 


282 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


dyke has anything definite in view; I only know that 
the preparations have been on a most portentous scale.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“In regard to size. When I went into the workshop 
yesterday morning, I found Polton erecting a kind of 
portable gallows about nine feet high, and he had just 
finished varnishing a pair of enormous wooden trays 
each over six feet long. It looked as if he and Thorn- 
dyke were contemplating a few private executions with 
subsequent post-mortems on the victims.” 

“What a horrible suggestion!” 

“So Polton said, with his quaint, crinkly smile. But 
he was mighty close about the use of the apparatus all 
the same. I wonder if we shall see anything of the 
experiments, when we get there. This is Museum 
Street, isn’t it?” 

“‘Yes.””? As she spoke, she lifted the flap of one of 
the little windows in the back of the cab and peered 
out. Then, closing it with a quiet, ironic smile, she 
said: 

“Tt is all right; he hasn’t missed us. It will be quite 
a nice little change for him.” 

The cab swung round into Great Russell Street, and, 
glancing out as it turned, I saw another hansom fol- 
lowing; but before I had time to inspect its solitary 
passenger, we drew up at the Museum gates. 

The gate porter, who seemed to expect us, ushered 
us up the drive to the great portico and into the 
Central Hall, where he handed us over to another offi- 
cial. 

“Doctor Norbury is in one of the rooms adjoining 
the Fourth Egyptian Room,” the latter stated in answer 
to our inquiries: and, providing himself with a wire- 
guarded lantern, he prepared to escort us thither. 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 283 


Up the great staircase, now wrapped in mysterious 
gloom, we passed in silence with bitter-sweet memories 
of that day of days when we had first trodden its steps 
together; through the Central Saloon, the Medieval 
Room and the Asiatic Saloon, and so into the long 
range of the Ethnographical Galleries. 

It was a weird journey. The swaying lantern shot 
its beams abroad into the darkness of the great, dim 
galleries, casting instantaneous flashes on the objects 
in the cases, so that they leaped into being and vanished 
in the twinkling of an eye. Hideous idols with round, 
staring eyes started forth from the darkness, glared 
at us for an instant and were gone. Grotesque masks, 
suddenly revealed by the shimmering light, took on 
the semblance of demon faces that seemed to mow and 
gibber at us as we passed. As for the life-sized models 
—realistic enough by daylight—their aspect was posi- 
tively alarming; for the moving light and shadow en- 
dowed them with life and movement, so that they 
seemed to watch us furtively, to lie in wait and to hold 
themselves in readiness to steal out and follow us. The 
illusion evidently affected Ruth as well as me, for she 
drew nearer to me and whispered: 

“These figures are quite startling. Did you see that 
Polynesian? I really felt as if he were going to spring 
out on us.” 

“They are rather uncanny,” I admitted, “but the dan- 
ger is over now. We are passing out of their sphere 
of influence.” 

We came out on a landing as I spoke and then 
turned sharply to the left along the North Gallery, from 
the center of which we entered the Fourth Egyptian 
~ Room. 

Almost immediately, a door in the opposite wall 


284 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


opened; a peculiar, high-pitched humming sound be- 
came audible, and Jervis came out on tiptoe with his 
hand raised, 

“Tread as lightly as you can,” he said. “We are just 
making an exposure.” 

The attendant turned back with his lantern, and we 
followed Jervis into the room from whence he had 
come. It was a large room, and little lighter than the 
galleries, for the single glow-lamp that burned at the 
end where we entered left the rest of the apartment in 
almost complete obscurity. We seated ourselves at 
once on the chairs that had been placed for us, and, 
when the mutual salutations had been exchanged, I 
looked about me. There were three people in the room 
besides Jervis: Thorndyke, who sat with his watch in 
his hand, a gray-headed gentleman whom I took to be 
Dr. Norbury, and a smaller person at the dim farther 
end—undistinguishable, but probably Polton. At our 
end of the room were the two large trays that I had 
seen in the workshop, now mounted on trestles and 
each fitted with a rubber drain-tube leading down to 
a bucket. At the farther end of the room the sinister 
shape of the gallows reared itself aloft in the gloom; 
only now I could see that it was not a gallows at all. 
For affixed to the top cross-bar was a large, bottomless 
glass basin, inside which was a glass bulb that glowed 
with a strange green light; and in the heart of the bulb 
a bright spot of red. 

It was all clear enough so far. The peculiar sound 
that filled the air was the hum of the interrupter; the 
bulb was, of course, a Crookes tube, and the red spot 
inside it, the glowing red-hot disc of the anti-cathode. 
Clearly an X-ray photograph was being made; but of 
what? I strained my eyes, peering into the gloom at 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 285 


the foot of the gallows, but though I could make out 
an elongated object lying on the floor directly under 
the bulb, 1 could not resolve the dimly seen shape into 
anything recognizable. Presently, however, Dr. Nor- 
bury supplied the clue. 

“I am rather surprized,” said he, “that you chose so 
composite an object as a mummy to begin on. I should 
have thought that a simpler object, such as a coffin 
or a wooden figure, would have been more instructive.” 

“In some ways it would,” replied Thorndyke, “but 
the variety of materials that the mummy gives us has 
its advantages. I hope your father is not ill, Miss Bel- 
lingham.”’ 

“He is not at all well,” said Ruth, “and we agreed 
that it was better for me to come alone. I knew Herr 
Lederbogen quite well. He stayed with us for a time 
when he was in England.” 

“T trust,” said Dr. Norbury, “that I have not troub- 
led you for nothing. Herr Lederbogen speaks of ‘our 
erratic English friend with the long name that I can 
never remember,’ and it seemed to me that he might 
be referring to your uncle.” 

“Tf should hardly have called my uncle erratic,” 
said Ruth. 

“No, no. Certainly not,’ Dr. Norbury agreed has- 
tily. ‘However, you shall see the letter presently and 
judge for yourself. We mustn’t introduce irrelevant 
topics while the experiment is in progress, must we, 
Doctor?” 

“Vou had better wait until we have finished,” said 
Thorndyke, “because I am going to turn out the light. 
Switch off the current, Polton.” 

The green light vanished from the bulb, the hum of 
the interrupter swept down an octave or two and died 


286 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


é 
away. Then Thorndyke and Dr. Norbury rose from 
their chairs and went toward the mummy, which they 
lifted tenderly while Polton drew from beneath it what 
presently turned out to be a huge black paper envelope. 
The single glow-lamp was switched off, leaving the room 
in total darkness until there burst out suddenly a bright 
orange red light immediately above one of the trays. 

We all gathered round to watch, as Polton—the high 
priest of these mysteries—drew from the black envel- 
ope a colossal sheet of bromide paper, laid it carefully 
in the tray and proceeded to wet it with a large brush 
which he had dipped in a pail of water. 

“T thought you always used plates for this kind of 
work,” said Dr. Norbury. 

“We do, by preference; but a six-foot plate would be 
impossible, so I had a special paper made to the size.” 

There is something singularly fascinating in the ap- 
pearance of a developing photograph; in the gradual, 
mysterious emergence of the picture from the blank, 
white surface of plate or paper. But a skiagraph, or 
X-ray photograph, has a fascination all its own. Un- 
like the ordinary photograph, which yields a picture of 
things already seen, it gives a presentment of objects 
hitherto invisible; and hence, when Polton poured the 
developer on the already wet paper, we all craned over 
the tray with the keenest curiosity. 

The developer was evidently a very slow one. For 
fully half a minute no change could be seen in the uni- 
form surface. Then, gradually, almost insensibly, the 
marginal portion began to darken, leaving the outline of 
the mummy in pale relief. The change, once started, 
proceeded apace. Darker and darker grew the margin 
of the paper until from slaty gray it had turned to 
black; and still the shape of the mummy, now in strong 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 287 


relief, remained an enlongated patch of bald white. 
But not for long. Presently the white shape began to be 
tinged with gray, and, as the color deepened, there grew 
out of it a paler form that seemed to steal out of the 
enshrouding gray like an apparition, spectral, awesome, 
mysterious. The skeleton was coming into view. 

“Tt is rather uncanny,” said Dr. Norbury. “I feel 
as if I were assisting at some unholy rite. Just look at 
it now!” 

The gray shadow of the cartonnage, the wrappings 
and the flesh was fading away into the background and 
the white skeleton stood out in sharp contrast. And it 
certainly was rather a weird spectacle. 

“You'll lose the bones if you develop much farther,” 
said Dr. Norbury. 

“I must let the bones darken,” Thorndyke replied, 
“in case there are any metallic objects. I have three 
more papers in the envelope.” 

The white shape of the skeleton now began to gray 
over and, as Dr. Norbury had said, its distinctness 
became less and yet less. Thorndyke leaned over the 
tray with his eyes fixed on a point in the middle of the 
breast and we all watched him in silence. Suddenly he 
rose. “Now, Polton,” he said sharply; “get the hypo 
on as quickly as you can.” 

Polton, who had been waiting with his hand on the 
stop-cock of the drain-tube, rapidly ran off the de- 
veloper into the bucket and flooded the paper with the 
fixing solution. 

“Now we can look at it at our leisure,” said Thorn- 
dyke. After waiting a few seconds, he switched on one 
of the glow-lamps, and as the flood of light fell on the 
photograph, he added: ‘‘You see we haven’t quite lost 
the skeleton.” 


288 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“No.” Dr. Norbury put on a pair of spectacles and 
bent down over the tray; and at this moment I felt 
Ruth’s hand touch my arm, lightly at first, and then 
with a strong nervous grasp; and I could feel that her 
hand was trembling. I looked round at her anxiously 
and saw that she had turned deathly pale. 

“Would you rather go out into the gallery?” I asked; 
for the room with its tightly shut windows was close 
and hot. 

“No,” she replied quietly. “I will stay here. I am 
quite well.” But still she kept hold of my arm. 

Thorndyke glanced at her keenly and then looked 
away as Dr. Norbury turned to ask him a question. 

“Why is it, think you, that some of the teeth show 
so much whiter than others?” | 

“T think the whiteness of the shadows is due to the 
presence of metal,” Thorndyke replied. 

“Do you mean that the teeth have metal fillings?” 
asked Dr. Norbury. 

“Ves.” 

“Really! This is very interesting. The use of gold 
stoppings—and artificial teeth, too—by the ancient 
Egyptians is well known, but we have no examples in 
this Museum. This mummy ought to be unrolled. Do 
you think all those teeth are filled with the same metal? 
They are not equally white.” 

“No,” replied Thorndyke. ‘“Those teeth that are 
perfectly white are undoubtedly filled with gold, but 
that grayish one is probably filled with tin.” 

“Very interesting,”’ said Dr. Norbury. “Very inter- 
esting! And what do you make of that faint mark 
across the chest, near the top of the sternum?” 

It was Ruth who answered his question. 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 289 


“Tt is the Eye of Osiris!” she exclaimed in a hushed 
voice. 

“Dear me!” exclaimed Dr, Norbury, “so it is. You 
are quite right. It is the Utchat—the Eye of Horus— 
or Osiris, if you prefer to call it so. That, I presume, 
will be a gilded device on some of the wrappings.” 

“No; I should say it is a tattoo mark. It is too in- 
definite for a gilded device. And I should say further 
that the tattooing is done in vermilion, as carbon tat- 
tooing could cast no visible shadow.” 

“TY think you must be mistaken about that,” said 
Dr. Norbury, “but we shall see, if the Director allows 
us to unroll the mummy. By the way, those little ob- 
jects in front of the knees are metallic, I suppose?” 

“Yes, they are metallic. But they are not in front of 
the knees; they are im the knees. They are pieces of 
silver wire which have been used to repair fractured 
kneecaps.” 

“Are you sure of that?” exclaimed ‘Dr. Norbury, 
peering at the little white marks with ecstasy; “because 
if you are, and if these objects are what you say they 
are, the mummy of Sebek-hotep is an absolutely unique 
specimen.” 

“T am quite certain of it,” said Thorndyke. 

“Then,” said Dr. Norbury, “we have made a dis- 
covery, thanks to your inquiring spirit. Poor John 
Bellingham! He little knew what a treasure he was 
giving us! How I wish he could have known! How 
I wish he could have been here with us to-night!” 

He paused once more to gaze in rapture at the photo- 
graph. And then Thorndyke, in his quiet, impassive 
way, said: 

“John Bellingham is here, Doctor Norbury. ‘This 
is John Bellingham.” 


- 290 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


Dr. Norbury started back and stared at Thorndyke 
in speechless amazement. 

“You don’t mean,” he exclaimed, after a long pause, 
“that this mummy is the body of John Bellingham!” 

“TI do indeed. There is no doubt of it.” 

“But it is impossible! The mummy was here in the 
gallery a full three weeks before he disappeared.” 

“Not so,” said Thorndyke. ‘John Bellingham was 
last seen alive by you and Mr. Jellicoe on the four- 
teenth of October, more than three weeks before the 
mummy left Queen Square. After that date he was 
never seen alive or dead by any person who knew him 
and could identify him. 

Dr. Norbury reflected a while in silence. Then, in a 
faint voice, he asked: 

“How do you suggest that John Bellingham’s body 
came to be inside that cartonnage?” 

“T think Mr. Jellicoe is the most likely person to be 
able to answer that question,” Thorndyke replied dryly. 

There was another interval of silence, and then Dr. 
Norbury asked suddenly: 

“But what do you suppose has become of Sebek- 
hotep? The real Sebek-hotep, I mean?” 

“T take it,” said Thorndyke, “that the remains of 
Sebek-hotep, or at least a portion of them, are at 
present lying in the Woodford mortuary awaiting an 
adjourned inquest.” 

As Thorndyke made this statement a flash of belated 
intelligence, mingled with self-contempt, fell on me. 
Now that the explanation was given, how obvious it 
was! And yet I, a competent anatomist and physiolo- 
gist and actually a pupil of Thorndyke’s, had mistaken 
those ancient bones for the remains of a recent body! 

Dr. Norbury considered the last statement for some 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 291 


time in evident perplexity. ‘It is all consistent enough, 
I must admit,” said he, at length, ‘and yet—are you 
quite sure there is no mistake? It seems so incredible.” 

“There is no mistake, I assure you,” Thorndyke 
answered. ‘To convince you, I will give you the facts 
in detail. First, as to the teeth. I have seen John 
Bellingham’s dentist and obtained particulars from his 
case-book. There were in all five teeth that had been 
filled. The right upper wisdom tooth, the molar next 
to it, and the second lower molar on the left side, had 
all extensive gold fillings. You can see them all quite 
plainly in the skiagraph. The lower left lateral incisor 
had a very small gold filling, which you can see as a 
nearly circular white dot. In addition to these, a filling 
of tin amalgam had been inserted while the deceased 
was abroad, in the second left upper bicuspid, the rather 
gray spot that we have already noticed. These would, 
by themselves, furnish ample means of identification. 
But in addition, there is the tattooed device of the Eye 
of Osiris a 

“Horus,” murmured Dr. Norbury. 

“Horus, then—in the exact locality in which it was 
borne by the deceased and tattooed, apparently, with 
the same pigment. There are, further, the suture wires 
in the knee-caps; Sir Morgan Bennett, having looked up 
the notes of the operation, informs me that he intro- 
duced three suture wires into the left patella and two 
into the right; which is what the skiagraph shows. 
Lastly, the deceased had an old Pott’s fracture on the 
left side. It is not very apparent now, but I saw it quite 
distinctly just now when the shadows of the bones were 
whiter. I think that you make take it that the identi- 
fication is beyond all doubt or question.” 

“Yes,” agreed Dr. Norbury, with gloomy resignation, 





202 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“it sounds, as you say, quite conclusive. Well, well, 
it is a most horrible affair. Poor old John Bellingham! 
it looks uncommonly as if he had met with foul play. 
Don’t you think so?” 

“T do,” replied Thorndyke. “There was a mark on 
the right side of the skull that looked rather like a 
fracture. It was not very clear, being at the side, but 
we must develop the negative to show it.” 

Dr. Norbury drew his breath in sharply through his 
teeth. “This is a gruesome business, Doctor,” said he. 
‘A terrible business. Awkward for our people, too. 
By the way, what is our position in the matter? What 
steps ought we to take?” 

“You should give notice to the coroner—I will man- 
age the police—and you should communicate with one 
of the executors of the will.” 

“Mr. Jellicoe?” 

“No, not Mr. Jellicoe, under the peculiar circum- 
stances. You had better write to Mr. Godfrey Belling- 
ham.” 

“But I rather understood that Mr. Ties was the co- 
executor,” said Dr. Norbury. 

“He is, surely, as matters stand,” said Jervis. 

“Not at all,” replied Thorndyke. ‘He was as matters 
stood; but he is not now. You are forgetting the 
condition of clause two. ‘That clause sets forth the 
conditions under which Godfrey Bellingham shall in- 
herit the bulk of the estate and become the co-executor 
and those conditions are: ‘that the body of the testa- 
tor shall be deposited in some authorized place for the 
reception of the bodies of the dead, situate within the 
boundaries of, or appertaining to some place of worship 
within, the parish of St. George, Bloomsbury, and St. 
Giles in the Fields, or St. Andrew above the Bars and 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 293 


St. George the Martyr.’ Now Egyptian mummies are 
bodies of the dead, and this Museum is an authorized 
place for their reception; and this building is situate 
within the boundaries of the parish of St. George, 
Bloomsbury. Therefore the provisions of clause two 
have been duly carried out and therefore Godfrey Bell- 
ingham is the principal beneficiary under the will, and 
the co-executor, in accordance with the wishes of the 
testator. Is that quite clear?” 

“Perfectly,” said Dr. Norbury; “and a most aston- 
ishing coincidence—but, my dear young lady, had you 
not better sit down? You are looking very ill.” 

He glanced anxiously at Ruth, who was pale to the 
lips and was now leaning heavily on my arm. 

“T think, Berkeley,” said Thorndyke, ‘‘you had better 
take Miss Bellingham out into the gallery, where there 
is more air. This has been a tremendous climax to all 
the trials she has borne so bravely. Go out with 
Berkeley,” he added gently, laying his hand on her 
shoulder, “and sit down while we develop the other 
negatives. You mustn’t break down now, you know, 
when the storm has passed and the sun is beginning to 
shine.” He held the door open and as we passed out 
his face softened into a smile of infinite kindness. ‘You 
won’t mind my locking you out,” said he; “this is a 
photographic dark-room at present.” 

The key grated in the lock and we turned away into 
the dim gallery. It was not quite dark, for a beam of 
moonlight filtered in here and there through the blinds 
that covered the skylights. We walked on slowly, her 
arm linked in mine, and for a while neither of us spoke. 
The great rooms were very silent and peaceful and 
solemn, ‘The hush, the stillness, the mystery of the 
half-seen forms in the cases around, were all in harmony 


204 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


with the deeply-felt sense of a great deliverance that 
filled our hearts. 

We had passed through into the next room before 
either of us broke the silence. Insensibly our hands 
had crept together, and as they met and clasped with 
mutual pressure, Ruth exclaimed: ‘‘How dreadful and 
tragic it is! Poor, poor Uncle John! It seems as if 
he had come back from the world of shadows to tell 
us of this awful thing. But, O God! what a relief it 
is!” 

She caught her breath in one or two quick sobs and 
pressed my hand passionately. 

“Tt is over, dearest,” I said. “It is gone for ever. 
Nothing remains but the memory of your sorrow and 
your noble courage and patience.” | 

“T can’t realize it yet,” she murmured. ‘It has been 
like a frightful, interminable dream.” 

“Let us put it away,” said I, “and think only of the 
happy life that is opening.” 

She made no reply, and only a quick catch in her 
breath, now and again, told of the long agony that she 
had endured with such heroic calm, 

We walked on slowly, scarcely disturbing the silence 
with our soft footfalls, through the wide doorway into 
the second room. The vague shapes of mummy-cases 
standing erect in the wall-cases, loomed out dim and 
gigantic, silent watchers keeping their vigil with the 
memories of untold centuries locked in their shadowy 
breasts. They were an awesome company. Reverend 
survivors from a vanished world, they looked out from 
the gloom of their abiding-place, but with no shade of 
menace or of malice in their silent presence; rather with 
a solemn benison on the fleeting creatures of to-day. 

Half-way along the room a ghostly figure, somewhat 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 295 


aloof from its companions, showed a dim, pallid blotch 
where its face would have been. With one accord we 
halted before it. 

“Do you know who this is, Ruth?” I asked. 

“Of course I do,” she answered. “It is Artemidorus.” 

We stood, hand in hand, facing the mummy, letting 
our memories fill in the vague silhouette with its well- 
remembered details. Presently I drew her nearer to 
me and whispered: 

“Ruth! do you remember when we last stood here?” 

“As if I could ever forget!”’ she answered passion- 
ately. ‘Oh, Paul! The sorrow of it! The misery! 
How it wrung my heart to tell you! Were you very 
unhappy when I left you?” 

“Unhappy! I never knew, until then, what real 
heart-breaking sorrow was. It seemed as if the light 
had gone out of my life for ever. But there was just 
one little spot of brightness left.” 

“What was that?” 

“You made me a promise, dear—a solemn promise; 
and I felt—at least I hoped—that the day would come, 
if I only waited patiently, when you would be able to 
redeem it.” 

She crept closer to me and yet closer, until her head 
nestled on my shoulder and her soft cheek lay against 
mine. 

“Dear heart,” I whispered, “is it now? Is the time 
fulfilled?” : 

“Ves, dearest,” she murmured softly. “It is now— 
and for ever.” 

Reverently I folded her in my arms; gathered her to 
the heart that worshiped her utterly. Henceforth no 
sorrows could hurt us, no misfortune vex; for we should 


296 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


walk hand in hand on our earthly pilgrimage and find 
the way all too short. 

Time, whose sands run out with such unequal swift- 
ness for the just and the unjust, the happy and the 
wretched, lagged, no doubt, with the toilers in the room 
that we had left. But for us its golden grains trickled 
out apace, and left the glass empty before we had begun 
to mark their passage. The turning of a key and the 
opening of a door aroused us from our dream of per- 
fect happiness. Ruth raised her head to listen, and our . 
lips met for one brief moment. Then, with a silent 
greeting to the friend who had looked on our grief 
and witnessed our final happiness, we turned and re- 
traced our steps quickly, filling the great empty rooms 
with chattering echoes. 

“We won’t go back into the dark-room—which isn’t 
dark now,” said Ruth. 

“Why not?” I asked. 

““Because—when I came out I was very pale; and 
I’m—well, I don’t think I am very pale now. Besides, 
poor Uncle John is in there—and—I should be 
ashamed to look at him with my selfish heart overflow- 
ing with happiness.” 

“You needn’t be,” said I. “It is the day of our lives 
and we have a right to be happy. But you shan’t go in, 
if you don’t wish to,” and I accordingly steered her 
adroitly past the beam of light that streamed from the 
open door. 

“We have developed four negatives,” said Thorn- 
dyke, as he emerged with the others, ‘‘and I am leaving 
them in the custody of Doctor Norbury, who will sign 
each when they are dry, as they may have to be put 
in evidence. What are you going to do?” 

I looked at Ruth to see what she wished. 


JOHN BELLINGHAM 207 


“If you won’t think me ungrateful,” said she, “I 
should rather be alone with my father to-night. He is 
very weak, and ‘e 

“Yes, I understand,” I said hastily. AndIdid. Mr. 
Bellingham was a man of strong emotions and would 
probably be somewhat overcome by the sudden change 
of fortune and the news of his brother’s tragic death. 

“In that case,” said Thorndyke, “I will bespeak your 
services. Will you go on and wait for me at my cham- 
bers, when you have seen Miss Bellingham home?” 

I agreed to this, and we set forth under the guidance 
of Dr. Norbury (who carried an electric lamp) to return 
by the way we had come; two of us, as least, in a vastly 
different frame of mind. The party broke up at the 
entrance gates, and as Thorndyke wished my com- 
panion ‘“‘Good-night,” she held his hand and looked up 
in his face with swimming eyes. 

“YT haven’t thanked you, Doctor Thorndyke,” she 
said, ‘‘and I don’t feel that I ever can. What you have 
done for me and my father is beyond all thanks. You 
have saved his life and you have rescued me from the 
most horrible ignominy. Good-by! and God bless 
you!” 

The hansom that bowled along eastward—at most 
unnecessary speed—bore two of the happiest human 
beings within the wide boundaries of the town. I 
looked at my companion as the lights of the street 
shone into the cab, and was astonished at the trans- 
formation. The pallor of her cheek had given place 
to a rosy pink; the hardness, the tension, the hag- 
gard self-repression that had aged her face, were all 
gone, and the girlish sweetness that had so bewitched 
me in the early days of our love had stolen back. 
Even the dimple was there when the sweeping lashes 





298 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


lifted and her eyes met mine in a smile of infinite 
tenderness. 

Little was said on that brief journey. It was hap- 
piness enough to sit, hand clasped in hand, and know 
that our time of trial was past; that no cross of Fate 
could ever part us now. 

The astonished cabman set us down, according to 
instructions, at the entrance to Nevill’s Court, and 
watched us with open mouth as we vanished into the 
narrow passage. The court had settled down for the 
night, and no one marked our return; no curious eye 
looked down on us from the dark house-front as we 
said “Good-by,” just inside the gate. 

‘“‘You will come and see us to-morrow, dear, won’t 
your” she asked. 

“Do you think it possible that I could stay away, 
then?” 

“T hope not, but come as early as you can. My 
father will be positively frantic to see you; because 
I shall have told him, you know. And, remember, that 
it is you who have brought us this great deliverance. 
Good-night, Paul.” 

“Good-night, sweetheart.” 

She put up her face frankly to be kissed and then 
ran up to the ancient door; whence she waved me a 
last good-by. ‘The shabby gate in the wall closed 
behind me and hid her from my sight; but the light 
of her love went with me and turned the dull street 
into a path of glory. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 


IT came upon me with something of a shock of sur- 
prise to find the scrap of paper still tacked to the oak 
of Thorndyke’s chambers. So much had happened 
since I had last looked on it that it seemed to belong to 
another epoch of my life. I removed it thoughtfully 
and picked out the tack before entering, and then, 
closing the inner door, but leaving the oak open, I lit 
the gas and fell to pacing the room. 

What a wonderful episode it had been! How the 
whole aspect of the world had been changed in a mo- 
ment by Thorndyke’s revelation! At another time, 
curiosity would have led me to endeavor to trace 
back the train of reasoning by which the subtle brain 
of my teacher had attained this astonishing conclu- 
sion. But now my own happiness held exclusive pos- 
session of my thoughts. The image of Ruth filled the 
field of my mental vision. I saw her again as I had 
seen her in the cab with her sweet, pensive face and. 
downcast eyes; I felt again the touch of her soft cheek 
and the parting kiss by the gate, so frank and simple, 
so intimate and final. 

I must have waited quite a long time, though the 
golden minutes sped unreckoned, for when my two col- 
leagues arrived they tendered needless apologies. 

“And I suppose,” said Thorndyke, “you have been 
wondering what I wanted you for.” 

299 


300 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


I had not, as a matter of fact, given the matter a 
moment’s consideration. 

“We are going to call on Mr. Jellicoe,’ Thorndyke 
explained. ‘‘There is something behind this affair, and 
until I have ascertained what it is, the case is not com- 
plete from my point of view.” 

“‘Wouldn’t it have done as well to-morrow?” I asked. 

“It might; and then it might not. There is an old 
saying as to catching a weasel asleep. Mr. Jellicoe is 
a somewhat wide-awake person, and I think it best to 
introduce him to Inspector Badger at the earliest pos- 
sible moment.” 

“The meeting of a weasel and a badger suggests a 
sporting interview,” remarked Jervis. ‘But you don’t 
expect Jellicoe to give himself away, do you?” | 

“He can hardly do that, seeing that there is nothing 
to give away. But I think he may make a statement. 
There were some exceptional circumstances, I feel 
sure.” 

“How long have you known that the body was in the 
Museum?” I asked. 

‘“‘About thirty or forty seconds longer than you have, 
I should say.” 

“Do you mean,” I exclaimed, “that you did not know 
until the negative was developed?” 

“My dear fellow,” he replied, ‘“do you suppose that, 
if I had had certain knowledge where the body was, I 
should have allowed that noble girl to go on dragging 
out a lingering agony of suspense that I could have cut 
short in a moment? Or that I should have made these 
humbugging pretenses of scientific experiments if a 
more dignified course had been open to me?” 

““As to the experiments,” said Jervis, “Norbury could 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 301 


hardly have refused if you had taken him into your con- 
fidence.” 

“Indeed he could, and probably would. My ‘confi- 
dence’ would have involved a charge of murder against 
a highly respectable gentleman who was well known to 
him. He would probably have referred me to the po- 
lice, and then what could I have done? JI had plenty 
of suspicions, but not a single solid fact.” 

Our discussion was here interrupted by hurried foot- 
steps on the stairs and a thundering rat-tat on our 
knocker. 

As Jervis opened the door, Inspector Badger burst 
into the room in a highly excited state. 

“What is all this, Doctor Thorndyke?” he asked. 
“I see you’ve sworn an information against Mr. Jellicoe, 
and I have a warrant to arrest him; but before any- 
thing else is done I think it right to tell you that we 
have more evidence than is generally known pointing 
to quite a different quarter.” 

“Derived from Mr. Jellicoe’s information,” said 
Thorndyke. “But the fact is that I have just examined 
and identified the body at the British Museum, where 
it was deposited by Mr. Jellicoe. I don’t say that he 
murdered John Bellingham—though that is what ap- 
pearances suggest—but I do say that he will have to 
account for his secret disposal of the body.” 

Inspector Badger was thunderstruck. Also he was 
visibly annoyed. The salt which Mr. Jellicoe had so 
adroitly sprinkled on the constabulary tail appeared to 
develop irritating properties, for when Thorndyke had 
given him a brief outline of the facts he stuck his hands 
in his pockets and exclaimed gloomily: 

“Well, I’m hanged! And to think of all the time and 


302 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


trouble I’ve spent on those damned bones! I suppose 
they were just a plant?” 

“Don’t let us disparage them,” said Thorndyke. 
“They have played a useful part. They represent the 
inevitable mistake that every criminal makes sooner or 
later. The murderer will always do a little too much. 
If he would only lie low and let well alone, the detec- 
tives might whistle for a clue. But it is time we are 
starting.” 

“Are we all going?” asked the inspector, looking at 
me in particular with no very gracious recognition. 

“We will all come with you,” said Thorndyke; ‘but 
you will, naturally, make the arrest in the way that 
seems best to you.” 

“It’s a regular procession,” grumbled the inspector; 
but he made no more definite objection, and we started 
forth on our quest. 

The distance from the Temple to Lincoln’s Inn is not 
great. In five minutes we were at the gateway in Chan- 
cery Lane, and a couple of minutes later saw us gath- 
ered round the threshold of the stately old house in New 
Square. 

“Seems to be a light in the first-floor front,” said 
Badger. ‘‘You’d better move away before I ring the 
bell.” 

But the precaution was unnecessary. As the inspec- 
tor advanced to the bell-pull a head was thrust out of 
the open window immediately above the street door. 

“Who are you?” inquired the owner of the head in 
a voice which I recognized as that of Mr. Jellicoe. 

“T am Inspector Badger of the Criminal Investiga- 
tion Department. I wish to see Mr. Arthur Jellicoe.” 

“Then look at me. Iam Mr. Arthur Jellicoe.” 

“T hold a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Jellicoe. You 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 303 


are charged with the murder of Mr. John Bellingham; 
whose body has been discovered in the British Mu- 
seum.”’ 

“By whom?” 

“By Doctor Thorndyke.” 

“Indeed,” said Mr. Jellicoe. “Is he here?” 

Ves,” 

“Ha! and you wish to arrest me, I presume?” 

“Yes. That is what I am here for.” 

“Well, I will agree to surrender myself subject to 
certain conditions.” 

“T can’t make any conditions, Mr. Jellicoe.” 

“No, I will make them, and you will accept them. 
Otherwise you will not arrest me.” 

“It’s no use for you to talk like that,” said Badger. 
“If you don’t let me in I shall have to break in. And 
I may as well tell you,” he added mendaciously, “that 
the house is surrounded.” 

“You may accept my assurance,” Mr. Jellicoe replied 
calmly, ‘that you will not arrest me if you do not accept 
my conditions.” 

“Well, what are you conditions?” demanded Badger. 

“T desire to make a statement,” said Mr. Jellicoe. 

“You can do that, but I must caution you that any- — 
thing you say may be used in evidence against you.” 

“Naturally. But I wish to make the statement in the 
presence of Doctor Thorndyke, and I desire to hear a 
statement from him of the method of investigation by 
which he discovered the whereabouts of the body. That 
is to say, if he is willing.” 

“Tf you mean that we should mutually enlighten one 
another, I am very willing indeed,” said Thorndyke. 

“Very well. Then my conditions, Inspector, are that 
I shall hear Doctor Thorndyke’s statement and that I 


304 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


shall be permitted to make a statement myself, and that 
until those statements are completed, with any neces- 
sary interrogation and discussion, I shall remain at 
liberty and shall suffer no molestation or interference 
of any kind. And I agree that, on the conclusion of 
the said proceedings, I will submit without resistance 
to any course that you may adopt.” 

“T can’t agree to that,” said Badger. 

“Can’t you” said Mr, Jellicoe coldly; and after a 
pause he added: ‘Don’t be hasty. I have given you 
warning.” 

There was something in Mr. Jellicoe’s passionless 
tone that disturbed the inspector exceedingly, for he 
turned to Thorndyke and said in a low tone: 

“T wonder what his game is? He can’t get away, you 
know.” 

“There are several possibilities,” said Thorndyke. 

“M’yes,” said Badger, stroking his chin perplexedly. 

“After all, is there any objection? His statement 
might save trouble, and you’d be on the safe side. It 
would take you some time to break in.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Jellicoe, with his hand on the win- 
dow, ‘do you agree—yes or no?” 

“All right,” said Badger sulkily. “I agree.” 

“You promise not to molest me in any way until I 
have quite finished?” 

“T promise.” 

Mr. Jellicoe’s head disappeared and the window 
closed. After a short pause we heard the jar of mas- 
sive bolts and the clank of a chain, and, as the heavy 
door swung open, Mr. Jellicoe stood revealed, calm and 
impassive, with an old-fashioned office candlestick in 
his hand. 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 305 


“Who are the others?” he inquired, peering out 
sharply through his spectacles. 

“Oh, they are nothing to do with me,” replied Badger. 

“They are Doctor Berkeley and Doctor Jervis,” said 
Thorndyke. 

“Ha!” said Mr. Jellicoe; “very kind and attentive 
of them to call. Pray, come in, gentlemen. I am sure 
you will be interested to hear our little discussion.” 

He held the door open with a certain stiff courtesy, 
and we all entered the hall led by Inspector Badger. 
He closed the door softly and preceded us up the stairs 
and into the apartment from the window of which he 
had dictated the terms of surrender. It was a fine old 
room, spacious, lofty, and dignified, with paneled walls 
and a carved mantelpiece, the central escutcheon of 
which bore the initials “J. W. P.” with the date “1671.” 
A large writing-table stood at the farther end, and be- 
hind it was an iron safe. 

“T have been expecting this visit,” Mr. Jellicoe re- 
marked tranquilly as he placed four chairs opposite the 
table. 

Since when?” asked Thorndyke. 

“Since last Monday evening, when I had the pleasure 
of seeing you conversing with my friend Doctor Berke- 
ley at the Inner Temple gate, and then inferred that you 
were retained in the case. That was a circumstance 
that had not been fully provided for. May I offer 
you gentlemen a glass of sherry?” 

As he spoke he placed on the table a decanter and a 
tray of glasses, and looked at us interrogatively with 
his hand on the stopper. 

“Well, I don’t mind if I do, Mr. Jellicoe,” said Bad- 
ger, on whom the lawyer’s glance had finally settled. 
Mr. Jellicoe filled a glass and handed it to him with a 


306 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


stiff bow; then, with the decanter still in his hand, he 
said persuasively: ““Doctor Thorndyke, pray allow me 
to fill you a glass?” 

“No, thank you,” said Thorndyke, in a tone so de- 
cided that the inspector looked round at him quickly. 
And as Badger caught his eye, the glass which he was 
about to raise to his lips became suddenly arrested and 
was slowly returned to the table untasted. 

“T don’t want to hurry you, Mr. Jellicoe,” said the 
inspector, ‘‘but it’s rather late, and I should like to 
get this business settled. What is it that you wish to 
do?” 

“T desire,” replied Mr. Jellicoe, ‘to make a detailed 
statement of the events that have happened, and I wish 
to hear from Doctor Thorndyke precisely how he ar- 
rived at his very remarkable conclusion. When this has 
been done I shall be entirely at your service; and I 
suggest that it would be more interesting if Doctor 
Thorndyke would give us his statement before I furnish 
you with the actual facts.” 

“T am entirely of your opinion,” said Thorndyke. 

“Then in that case,” said Mr. Jellicoe, “I suggest that 
you disregard me, and address your remarks to your 
friends as if I were not present.” 

Thorndyke acquiesced with a bow, and Mr. Jellicoe, 
having seated himself in his elbow-chair behind the 
table, poured himself out a glass of water, selected a 
cigarette from a neat silver case, lighted it deliberately, 
and leaned back to listen at his ease. 


“My first acquaintance with this case,” Thorndyke 
began without preamble, “was made through the me- 
dium of the daily papers about two years ago; and I 
may say that, although I had no interest in it beyond 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 307 


the purely academic interest of a specialist in a case 
that lies in his particular specialty, I considered it 
with deep attention. The newspaper reports contained 
no particulars of the relations of the parties that could 
furnish any hints as to motives on the part of any of 
them, but merely a bare statement of the events. And 
this was a distinct advantage, inasmuch as it left one 
to consider the facts of the case without regard to 
motive—to balance the prima facie probabilities with 
an open mind. And it may surprize you to learn that 
those prima facie probabilities pointed from the very 
first to that solution which has been put to the test of 
experiment this evening. Hence it will be well for me 
to begin by giving the conclusions that I reached by 
reasoning from the facts set forth in the newspapers 
before any of the further facts came to my knowledge. 

“From the facts as stated in the newspaper reports 
it is obvious that there were four possible explanations 
of the disappearance. 

“rt. The man might be alive and in hiding. This 
was highly improbable, for the reasons that were stated 
_by Mr. Loram at the late hearing of the application, and 
for a further reason that I shall mention presently. 

“‘2. He might have died by accident or disease, and 
his body failed to be identified. This was even more 
improbable, seeing that he carried on his person abun- 
dant means of identification, including visiting cards. 

“2. He might have been murdered by some stranger 
for the sake of his portable property. This was highly 
improbable for the same reason: his body could hardly 
have failed to be identified. 

“These three explanations are what we may call the 
outside explanations. They touched none of the parties 
mentioned; they were all obviously improbable on 


308 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


general grounds; and to all of them there was one con- 
clusive answer—the scarab which was found in Godfrey 
Bellingham’s garden. Hence I put them aside and gave 
my attention to the fourth explanation. This was that 
the missing man had been made away with by one of the 
parties mentioned in the report. But, since the reports 
mentioned three parties, it was evident that there was 
a choice of three hypotheses, namely: 

“(a) That John Bellingham had been made away 
with by Hurst; or (0) by the Bellinghams; or (c) by 
Mr. Jellicoe. 

“‘Now, I have constantly impressed on my pupils that 
the indispensable question that must be asked at the 
outset of such an inquiry as this is, ‘When was the 
missing person last undoubtedly seen or known to be 
alive?’ That is the question that I asked myself after 
reading the newspaper report; and the answer was, 
that he was last certainly seen alive on the fourteenth 
of October, nineteen hundred and two, at 141, Queen 
Square, Bloomsbury. Of the fact that he was alive 
at that time and place there could be no doubt what- 
ever; for he was seen at the same moment by two 
persons, both of whom were intimately acquainted with 
him, and one of whom, Doctor Norbury, was appar- 
ently a disinterested witness. After that date he was 
never seen, alive or dead, by any person who knew 
him and was able to identify him. It was stated that 
he had been seen on the twenty-third of November 
following by the housemaid of Mr. Hurst; but as this 
person was unacquainted with him, it was uncertain 
whether the person whom she saw was or was not John 
Bellingham. 

“Hence the disappearance dated, not from the 
twenty-third of November, as every one seems to have 





A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 309 


assumed, but from the fourteenth of October; and the 
question was not, ‘What became of John Bellingham 
after he entered Mr. Hurst’s house?’ but, ‘What be- 
_ came of him after his interview in Queen Square?’ 

“But as soon as I had decided that that interview 
must form the real starting point of the inquiry, a most 
striking set of circumstances came into view. It be- 
came obvious that if Mr. Jellicoe had had any reason 
for wishing to make away with John Bellingham, he 
had such an opportunity as seldom falls to the lot of 
an intending murderer. 

“Just consider the conditions. John Bellingham was 
known to be setting out alone upon a journey beyond 
the sea. His exact destination was not stated. He was 
to be absent for an undetermined period, but at least 
three weeks. His disappearance would occasion no 
comment; his absence would lead to no inquiries, at 
least for several weeks, during which the. murderer 
would have leisure quietly to dispose of the body and 
conceal all traces of the crime. The conditions were, 
from a murderer’s point of view, ideal. 

“But that was not all. During that very period of 
John Bellingham’s absence Mr. Jellicoe was engaged 
to deliver to the British Museum what was admittedly 
a dead human body; and that body was to be enclosed 
in a sealed case. Could any more perfect or secure 
method of disposing of a body be devised by the most 
ingenious murderer? ‘The plan would have had only 
one weak point: the mummy would be known to have 
left Queen Square after the disappearance of John Bel- 
lingham, and suspicion might in the end have arisen. 
To this point I shall return presently; meanwhile we 
will consider the second hypothesis—that the missing 
man was made away with by Mr. Hurst. 


310 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


“‘Now, there seemed to be no doubt that some person, 
purporting to be John Bellingham, did actually visit 
Mr. Hurst’s house; and he must either have left the 
house or remained in it. If he left, he did so surrep- 
titiously; if he remained, there could be no reasonable 
doubt that he had been murdered and that his body 
had been concealed. Let us consider the probabilities 
in each case. 

“‘Assuming—as every one seems to have done—that 
the visitor was really John Bellingham, we are dealing 
with a responsible, middle-aged gentleman, and the idea 
that such a person would enter a house, announce his 
intention of staying, and then steal away unobserved 
is very difficult to accept. Moreover, he would appear 
to have come down to Eltham by rail immediately on 
landing in England, leaving his luggage in the cloak- 
room at Charing Cross. This pointed to a definiteness 
of purpose quite inconsistent with his casual disap- 
pearance from the house. 

“On the other hand, the idea that he might have been 
murdered by Hurst was not inconceivable. The thing 
was physically possible. If Bellingham had really been 
in the study when Hurst came home, the murder could 
have been committed—by appropriate means—and the 
body temporarily concealed in the cupboard or else- 
where. But although possible it was not at all probable. 
There was no real opportunity. The risk and the sub- 
sequent difficulties would be very great; there was not 
a particle of positive evidence that a murder had oc- 
curred; and the conduct of Hurst in immediately leav- 
ing the house in possession of the servants is quite 
inconsistent with the supposition that there was a body 
concealed in it. So that, while it is almost impossible 
to believe that John Bellingham left the house of his 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM BIT 


own accord, it is equally difficult to believe that he did 
not leave it. 

“But there is a third possibility, which, strange to 
say, no one seems to have suggested. Supposing that 
the visitor was not John Bellingham at all, but some 
one who was impersonating him? That would dispose 
of the difficulties completely, The strange disappear- 
ance ceases to be strange, for a personator would neces- 
sarily make off before Mr. Hurst should arrive and 
discover the imposture. But if we accept this supposi- 
tion, we raise two further questions: ‘Who was the 
personator?’ and ‘What was the object of the persona- 
tion?’ 

“Now, the personator was clearly not Hurst him- 
self, for he would have been recognized by his house- 
maid; he was therefore either Godfrey Bellingham or 
Mr. Jellicoe or some other person; and as no other 
person was mentioned in the newspaper reports I con- 
fined my speculations to these two. 

“And, first, as to Godfrey Bellingham. It did not 
appear whether he was or was not known to the house- 
maid, so I assumed—wrongly, as it turns out—that he 
was not. Then he might have been the personator. 
But why should he have personated his brother? He 
could not have already committed the murder. There 
had not been time enough. He would have had to leave 
Woodford before John Bellingham had set out for Char- 
ing Cross. And even if he had committed the murder, 
he would have no object in raising this commotion. His 
cue would have been to remain quiet and know nothing. 
The probabilities were all against the personator being 
Godfrey Bellingham. 

“Then could it be Mr. Jellicoe? The answer to this 
question is contained in the answer to the further ques- 


312 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


tion: ‘What could have been the object of the per- 
sonation?’ 

‘“‘What motive could this unknown person have had 
in appearing, announcing himself as John Bellingham, 
and forthwith vanishing? ‘There could only have been 
one motive: that, namely, of fixing the date of John 
Bellingham’s disappearance—of furnishing a definite 
moment at which he was last seen alive. 

“But who was likely to have had such a motive? 
Let us see. 

“T said just now that if Mr. Jellicoe had murdered 
John Bellingham and disposed of the body in the 
mummy-case, he would have been absolutely safe for 
the time being. But there would be a weak spot in his 
armor. For a month or more the disappearance of his 
client would occasion no remark. But presently, when 
he failed to return, inquiries would be set on foot; 
and then it would appear that no one had seen him 
since he left Queen Square. Then it would be noted 
that the last person with whom he was seen was Mr. 
Jellicoe. It might, further, be remembered that the 
mummy had been delivered to the Musuem some time 
after the missing man was last seen alive. And so sus- 
picion might arise and be followed by disastrous in- 
vestigations. But supposing it should be made to ap- 
pear that John Bellingham had been seen alive more 
than a month after his interview with Mr. Jellicoe and 
some weeks after the mummy had been deposited in the 
Museum? Then Mr. Jellicoe would cease to be in any 
way connected with the disappearance and henceforth 
would be absolutely safe. 

“Hence, after carefully considering this part of the 
newspaper report, I came to the conclusion that the 
mysterious occurrence at Mr. Hurst’s house had only 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 313 


one reasonable explanation, namely, that the visitor was 
not John Bellingham, but some one personating him; 
and that that some one was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“It remains to consider the case of Godfrey Belling- 
ham and his daughter, though I cannot understand how 
any sane person can have seriously suspected either” 
(here Inspector Badger smiled a sour smile). ‘The 
evidence against them was negligible, for there was 
nothing to connect them with the affair save the find- 
ing of the scarab on their premises; and that event 
which might have been highly suspicious under other 
circumstances, was robbed of any significance by the 
fact that the scarab was found on a spot which had 
been passed a few minutes previously by the other sus- 
pected party, Hurst. The finding of the scarab did, 
however, establish two important conclusions: namely, 
that John Bellingham had probably met with foul play, 
and that of the four persons present when it was found, 
one at least had had possession of the body. As to 
which of the four was the one, the circumstances fur- 
nished only a hint, which was this: If the scarab had 
been purposely dropped, the most likely person to find 
it was the one who dropped it. And the person who 
discovered it was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“Following up this hint, if we ask ourselves what 
motive Mr. Jellicoe could have had for dropping it— 
assuming him to be the murderer—the answer is ob- 
vious. It would not be his policy to fix the crime on 
any particular person, but rather to set up a com- 
plication of conflicting evidence which would occupy 
the attention of investigators and divert it from him- 
self. 

“Of course, if Hurst had been the murderer, he would 
have had a sufficient motive for dropping the scarab, 


314 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


so that the case against Mr. Jellicoe was not conclu- 
sive; but the fact that it was he who found it was highly 
significant. 

“This completes the analysis of the evidence con- 
tained in the original newspaper report describing the 
circumstances of the disappearance. The conclusions 
that followed from it were, as you will have seen: 


“rt, That the missing man was almost certainly dead, 
as proved by the finding of the scarab after his dis- 
appearance. 

‘“‘9. That he had probably been murdered by one or 
more of four persons, as proved by the finding of the 
scarab on the premises occupied by two of them and 
accessible to the others. 

“3, That, of those four persons, one—Mr, Jellicoe— 
was the last person who was known to have been in the 
company of the missing man; had had an exceptional 
opportunity for committing the murder; and was 
known to have delivered a dead body to the Museum 
subsequently to the disappearance. 

“4. That the supposition that Mr. Jellicoe had com- 
mitted the murder rendered all the other circumstances 
of the disappearance clearly intelligible, whereas on any 
other supposition they were quite inexplicable. 


“The evidence of the newspaper report, therefore, 
clearly pointed to the probability that John Bellingham 
had been murdered by Mr. Jellicoe and his body con- 
cealed in the mummy-case. 

“T do not wish to give you the impression that I, 
then and there, believed that Mr. Jellicoe was the 
murderer. I did not. There was no reason to suppose 
that the report contained all the essential facts, and 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM _—_—_s3315 


I merely considered it speculatively as a study in prob- 
abilities. But I did decide that that was the only 
probable conclusion from the facts that were given. 

“Nearly two years had passed before I heard any- 
thing more of the case. Then it was brought to my 
notice by my friend, Doctor Berkeley, and I became 
acquainted with certain new facts, which I will consider 
in the order in which they became known to me. 

“The first new light on the case came from the will. 
As soon as I had read the document I felt convinced 
that there was something wrong. ‘The testator’s evi- 
dent intention was that his brother should inherit the 
property, whereas the construction of the will was such 
as almost certainly to defeat that intention. The devo- 
lution of the property depended on the burial clause— 
clause two; but the burial arrangement would ordi- 
narily be decided by the executor, who happened to 
be Mr. Jellicoe. Thus the will left the disposition of 
the property under the control of Mr. Jellicoe, though 
his action could have been contested. 

“Now, this will, although drawn up by John Belling- 
ham, was executed in Mr. Jellicoe’s office as is proved 
by the fact that it was witnessed by two of his clerks. 
He was the testator’s lawyer, and it was his duty to in- | 
sist on the will being properly drawn. Evidently he did 
nothing of the kind, and this fact strongly suggested 
some kind of collusion on his part with Hurst, who 
stood to benefit by the miscarriage of the will. And 
this was the odd feature in the case, for whereas the 
party responsible for the defective provisions was Mr. 
Jellicoe, the party who benefited was Hurst. 

“But the most startling peculiarity of the will was 
the way in which it fitted the circumstances of the 
disappearance. It looked as if clause two had been 


316 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


drawn up with those very circumstances in view. Since, 
hewever, the will was ten years old, this was impos- 
sible, But if clause two could not have been devised 
to fit the disappearance, could the disappearance not 
have been devised to fit clause two? That was by 
no means impossible: under the circumstances it looked 
rather probable. And if it had been so contrived, who 
was the agent in that contrivance? Hurst stood to 
benefit, but there was no evidence that he even knew 
the contents of the will. There only remained Mr. 
Jellicoe, who had certainly connived at the misdraw- 
ing of the will for some purpose of his own—some 
dishonest purpose. 

“The evidence of the will, then, pointed to Mr. 
Jellicoe as the agent in the disappearance, and, after 
reading it, I definitely suspected him of the crime. 

“Suspicion, however, is one thing and proof is an- 
other; I had not nearly enough evidence to justify me 
in laying an information, and I could not approach 
the Museum officials without making a definite ac- 
cusation. The great difficulty of the case was that I 
could discover no motive. I could not see any way 
in which Mr. Jellicoe would benefit by the disappear- 
ance. His own legacy was secure, whenever and how- 
ever the testator died. The murder and concealment 
apparently benefited Hurst alone; and, in the absence 
of any plausible motive, the facts required to be much 
more conclusive than they were.” 

“Did you form absolutely no opinion as to motive?” 
asked Mr. Jellicoe. 

He put the question in a quiet, passionless tone, as 
if he were discussing some cause célébre in which he 
had nothing more than a professional interest. Indeed, 
the calm, impersonal interest that he displayed in 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 317 


Thorndyke’s analysis, his unmoved attention, punctu- 
ated by little nods of approval at each telling point in 
the argument, were the most surprising features of this 
astounding interview. 

“TY did form an opinion,” replied Thorndyke, “but 
it was merely speculative, and I was never able to 
confirm it. I discovered that about ten years ago Mr. 
Hurst had been in difficulties and that he had suddenly 
raised a considerable sum of money, no one knew how 
or on what security. I observed that this even coin- 
cided with the execution of the will, and I surmised 
that there might be some connection between them. 
But that was only a surmise; and, as the proverb has 
it, ‘He discovers who proves.’ I could prove nothing, 
so that I never discovered Mr. Jellicoe’s motive, and I 
don’t know it now.” 

“Don’t you really?” said Mr. Jellicoe, in something 
approaching a tone of animation. He laid down the 
end of his cigarette, and, as he selected another from 
the silver case, he continued: ‘I think that is the most 
interesting feature of your really remarkable analysis. 
It does you great credit. The absence of motive would 
have appeared to most persons a fatal objection to the 
theory, of what I may call, the prosecution. Permit 
me to congratulate you on the consistency and tenacity 
with which you have pursued the actual, visible facts.” 

‘He bowed stiffly to Thorndyke (who returned his bow 
with equal stiffness), lighted a fresh cigarette, and once 
more leaned back in his chair with the calm, attentive 
manner of a man who is listening to a lecture or a 
musical performance. 

“The evidence, then, being insufficient to act upon,” 
Thorndyke resumed, “there was nothing for it but to 
wait for some new facts. Now, the study of a large 


318 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


series of carefully conducted murders brings into view 
an almost invariable phenomenon. The cautious mur- 
derer, in his anxiety to make himself secure, does too 
much; and it is this excess of precaution that leads to 
detection. It happens constantly; indeed, I may say 
that it always happens—in those murders that are de- 
tected; of those that are not we say nothing—and I had 
strong hopes that it would happen in this case. And it 
did. 

‘“‘At the very moment when my client’s case seemed 
almost hopeless, some human remains were discovered 
at Sidcup. I read the account of the discovery in the 
evening paper, and scanty as the report was, it recorded 
enough facts to convince me that the inevitable mistake 
had been made.” 

“Did it, indeed?” said Mr. Jellicoe. “A mere, inex- 
pert, hearsay report! I should have supposed it to be 
quite valueless from a scientific point of view.” 

“So it was,” said Thorndyke. “But it gave the date 
of the discovery and the locality, and it also mentioned 
what bones had been found. Which were all vital facts. 
Take the question of time. These remains, after lying 
perdu for two years, suddenly come to light just as the 
parties—who have also been lying perdu—have begun 
to take action in respect of the will; in fact, within a 
week or two of the hearing of the application. It was 
certainly a remarkable coincidence. And when the cir- 
cumstances that occasioned the discovery were con- 
sidered, the coincidence became more remarkable still. 
For these remains were found on land actually belong- 
ing to John Bellingham, and their discovery resulted 
from certain operations (the clearing of the watercress- 
beds) carried out on behalf of the absent landlord. But 
by whose orders were those works undertaken? Clear- 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 319 


ly by the orders of the landlord’s agent. But the land- 
lord’s agent was known to be Mr. Jellicoe. Therefore 
these remains were brought to light at this peculiarly 
opportune moment by the action of Mr. Jellicoe. The 
coincidence, I say again, was very remarkable. 

“But what instantly arrested my attention on read- 
ing the newspaper report was the unusual manner in 
which the arm had been separated; for, besides the 
bones of the arm proper, there were those of what an- 
atomists call the ‘shoulder-girdle’-—the shoulder-blade 
and collar-bone. This was very remarkable. It seemed 
to suggest a knowledge of anatomy, and yet no mur- 
derer, even if he possessed such knowledge, would make 
a display of it on such an occasion. It seemed to me 
that there must be some other explanation. Accord- 
ingly, when other remains had come to light and all 
had been collected at Woodford, I asked my friend 
Berkeley to go down there and inspect them. He did 
so, and this is what he found: 

“Both arms had been detached in the same peculiar 
manner; both were complete, and all the bones were 
from the same body. The bones were quite clean—of 
soft structures, I mean. There were no cuts, scratches 
or marks on them. There was not a trace of adipocere 
—the peculiar waxy soap that forms in bodies that de- 
cay in water or in a damp situation. The right hand 
had been detached at the time the arm was thrown into 
the pond, and the left ring finger had been separated 
and had vanished. This latter fact had attracted my 
attention from the first, but I will leave its consideration 
for the moment and return to it later.” 

“How did you discover that the hand had been de- 
tached?” Mr. Jellicoe asked. 

“By the submersion marks,” replied Thorndyke. “It 


320 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


was lying on the bottom of the pond in a position which 
would have been impossible if it had been attached to 
the arm.” 

“You interest me exceedingly,” said Mr. Jellicoe. 
“It appears that a medico-legal expert finds ‘books in 
the running brooks, sermons in bones, and evidence in 
everything.’ But don’t let me interrupt you.” 

“Doctor Berkeley’s observations,” Thorndyke re- 
sumed, “together with the medical evidence at the 
inquest, led me to certain conclusions. 

“Let me state the facts which were disclosed. 

“The remains which had been assembled formed a 
complete human skeleton with the exception of the 
skull, one finger, and the legs from the knee to the 
ankle, including both knee-caps. This was a very im- 
pressive fact; for the bones that were missing included 
all those which could have been identified as belonging 
or not belonging to John Bellingham; and the bones 
that were present were the unidentifiable remainder. 

“Tt had a suspicious appearance of selection. 

“‘But the parts that were present were also curiously 
suggestive. In all cases the mode of dismemberment 
was peculiar; for an ordinary person would have di- 
vided the knee-joint leaving the knee-cap attached to 
the thigh, whereas it had evidently been left attached 
to the shinbone; and the head would most probably 
have been removed by cutting through the neck instead 
of being neatly detached from the spine. And all 
these bones were almost entirely free from marks or 
scratches such as would naturally occur in an ordinary 
_ dismemberment and all were quite free from adipocere. 
And now as to the conclusions which I drew from 
these facts. First, there was the peculiar grouping of 
the bones. What was the meaning of that? Well, the 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 321 


idea of a punctilious anatomist was obviously absurd, 
and I put it aside. But was there any other explana- 
tion? Yes, there was, The bones had appeared in 
the natural groups that are held together by ligaments; 
and they had separated at points where they were at- 
tached principally by muscles. The knee-cap, for in- 
stance, which really belongs to the thigh, is attached to 
it by muscle, but to the shin-bone by a stout ligament. 
And so with the bones of the arm; they are connected 
to one another by ligaments; but to the trunk only 
by muscle, excepting at one end of the collar-bone. 

“But this was a very significant fact. Ligament de- 
cays much more slowly than muscle, so that in a body 
of which the muscles had largely decayed the bones 
might still be held together by ligament. The peculiar 
grouping therefore suggested that the body had been 
partly reduced to a skeleton before it was dismembered; 
that it had then been merely pulled apart and not di- 
vided with a knife. 

“This suggestion was remarkably confirmed by the 
total absence of knife-cuts or scratches. 

“Then there was the fact that all the bones were 
quite free from adipocere. Now, if an arm or a thigh 
should be deposited in water and left undisturbed to 
decay, it is certain that large masses of adipocere would 
be formed. Probably more than half of the flesh would 
be converted into this substance. The absence of adi- 
pocere therefore proved that the bulk of the flesh had 
disappeared or been removed from the bones before 
they were deposited in the pond. ‘That, in fact, it 
was not a body, but a skeleton, that had been deposited. 

“But what kind of skeleton? If it was the recent 
skeleton of a murdered man, then the bones had been 
carefully stripped of flesh so as to leave the ligaments 


322 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


intact. But this was highly improbable; for there 
could be no object in preserving the ligaments. And 
the absence of scratches was against this view. 

“Then they did not appear to be graveyard bones. 
The collection was too complete. It is very rare to find 
a graveyard skeleton of which many of the small bones 
are not missing. And such bones are usually more or 
less weathered and friable. 

“They did not appear to be bones such as may be 
bought at an osteological dealer’s, for these usually 
have perforations to admit the macerating fluid to the 
marrow cavities. Dealers’ bones, too, are very seldom 
all from the same body; and the small bones of the 
hand are drilled with holes to enable them to be strung 
on catgut. 

“‘They were not dissecting-room bones, as there was 
no trace of red lead in the openings for the nutrient 
arteries. , 

“What the appearances did suggest was that these 
were parts of a body which had decayed in a very dry 
atmosphere (in which no adipocere would be formed), 
and which had been pulled or broken apart. Also that 
the ligaments which held the body—or rather skeleton 
—together were brittle and friable as suggested by the 
detached hand, which had probably broken off acci- 
dentally. But the only kind of body that completely 
answered this description is an Egyptian mummy. A 
mummy, it is true, has been more or less preserved; but 
on exposure to the air of such a climate as ours it per- 
ishes rapidly, the ligaments being the last of the soft 
parts to disappear. 

“The hypothesis that these bones were parts of a 
mummy naturally suggested Mr. Jellicoe. If he had 
murdered John Bellingham and concealed his body in 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 323 


the mummy-case, he would have a spare mummy on 
his hands, and that mummy would have been exposed 
to the air and to somewhat rough handling. 

“A very interesting circumstance connected with 
these remains was that the ring finger was missing. 
Now, fingers have on sundry occasions been detached 
from dead hands for the sake of the rings on them. 
But in such cases the object has been to secure a valu- 
able ring uninjured. If this hand was the hand of 
John Bellingham, there was no such object. The pur- 
pose was to prevent identification; and that purpose 
would have been more easily, and much more com- 
pletely, achieved by sacrificing the ring, by filing 
through it or breaking it off the finger. The appear- 
ances, therefore, did not quite agree with the appar- 
ent purpose. 

“Then, could there be any other purpose with which 
they agreed better? Yes, there could. 

“If it had happened that John Bellingham were 
known to have worn a ring on that finger, and especially 
if that ring fitted tightly, the removal of the finger 
would serve a very useful purpose. It would create 
an impression that the finger had been removed on 
account of a ring, to prevent identification; which im- 
pression would, in turn, produce a suspicion that the 
hand was that of John Bellingham. And yet it would 
not be evidence that could be used to establish identity. 
Now, if Mr. Jellicoe were the murderer and had the 
body hidden elsewhere, vague suspicion would be pre- 
cisely what he would desire, and positive evidence 
what he would wish to avoid. 

“Tt transpired later that John Bellingham did wear 
a ring on that finger and that the ring fitted very tight- 
\y. Whence it followed that the absence of the finger 


324 THE EVE OF OSIRIS 


was an additional point tending to implicate Mr. Jel- 
licoe. 

‘“‘And now let us briefly review this mass of evidence. 
You will see that it consists of a multitude of items, 
each either trivial or speculative. Up to the time of 
the actual discovery I had not a single crucial fact, nor 
-any clue as to motive. But, slight as the individual 
points of evidence were, they pointed with impressive 
unanimity to one person—Mr., Jellicoe. Thus: 

“The person who had the opportunity to commit 
murder and dispose of the body was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“The deceased was last certainly seen alive with Mr. 
Jellicoe. 

“An unidentified human body was delivered to the 
Museum by Mr. Jellicoe. 

“The only person who could have a motive for per- 
sonating the deceased was Mr, Jellicoe. 

“The only known person who could possibly have 
done so was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“One of the two persons who could have had a mo- 
tive for dropping the scarab was Mr. Jellicoe. The 
person who found that scarab was Mr. Jellicoe, al- 
though, owing to his defective eyesight and his spec- 
tacles, he was the most unlikely person of those present 
to find it. 

“The person who was responsible for the execution 
of the defective will was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“Then as to the remains. They were apparently not 
those of John Bellingham, but parts of a particular kind 
of body. But the only person who was known to have 
had such a body in his possession was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“The only person who could have had any motive 
for substituting those remains for the remains of the 
deceased was Mr. Jellicoe. 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 325 


“Finally, the person who caused the discovery of 
those remains at that singularly opportune moment 
was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“This was the sum of the evidence that was in my 
possession up to the time of the hearing and, indeed, 
for some time after, and it was not enough to act upon. 
But when the case had been heard in Court, it was 
evident either that the proceedings would be abandoned 
—which was unlikely—or that there would be new de- 
velopments. 

“T watched the progress of events with profound in- 
terest. An attempt had been made (by Mr. Jellicoe or 
some other person) to get the will administered with- 
out producing the body of John Bellingham; and that 
attempt had failed. The coroner’s jury had refused to 
identify the remains; the Probate Court had refused to 
presume the death of the testator. As affairs stood the 
will could not be administered. 

“What would be the next move? 

“It was virtually certain that it would consist in the 
production of something which would identify the un- 
recognized remains as those of the testator. 

“But what would that something be? . 

“The answer to that question would contain the an- 
swer to another question: ‘Was my solution of the mys- 
tery the true solution?’ 

“Tf I was wrong, it was possible that some of the 
undoubtedly genuine bones of John Bellingham might 
presently be discovered; for instance, the skull, the 
knee-cap, or the left fibula, by any of which the remains 
could be positively identified. 

“Tf I was right, only one thing could possibly happen. 
Mr. Jellicoe. would have to play the trump card that he 
had been holding back in case the Court should refuse 


326 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


the application; a card that he was evidently reluctant 
to play. | 

“He would have to produce the bones of the mum- 
my’s finger, together with John Bellingham’s ring. No 
other course was possible. 

‘“‘But not only would the bones and the ring have to 
be found together. They would have to be found in a 
place which was accessible to Mr. Jellicoe, and so far 
under his control that he could determine the exact 
time when the discovery should be made, 

“T waited patiently for the answer to my question. 
Was I right or was I wrong? 

“And, in due course, the answer came. 

“The bones and the ring were discovered in the well 
in the grounds of Godfrey Bellingham’s late house. 
That house was the property of John Bellingham. Mr. 
Jellicoe was John Bellingham’s agent. Hence it was 
practically certain that the date on which the well 
was emptied was settled by Mr. Jellicoe. 

“The oracle had spoken. 

“The discovery proved conclusively that the bones 
were not those of John Bellingham (for if they had 
been the ring would have been unnecessary for identi- 
fication). But if the bones were not John Belling- 
ham’s, the ring was; from which followed the impor- 
tant corollary that whoever had deposited those bones 
in the well had had possession of the body of John 
Bellingham. And there could be no doubt that that 
person was Mr. Jellicoe. 

“On receiving this final confirmation of my conclu- 
sions, I applied forthwith to Doctor Norbury for per- 
mission to examine the mummy of Sebek-hotep, with 
the result that you are already acquainted with.” 

As Thorndyke concluded, Mr. Jellicoe regarded 


A STRANGE SYMPOSIUM 327 


him thoughtfully for a moment and then said: “You 
have given us a most complete and lucid exposition of 
your method of investigation, sir. I have enjoyed it 
exceedingly, and should have profited by it hereafter 
—under other circumstances. Are you sure you won’t 
allow me to fill your glass?”? He touched the stopper 
of the decanter, and Inspector Badger ostentatiously 
consulted his watch. 

“Time is running on, I fear,” said Mr. Jellicoe. 

“Tt is, indeed,” Badger assented emphatically. 

“Well, I need not detain you long,” said the lawyer. 
“My statement is a narration of events. But I desire 
_ to make it, and you, no doubt, will be interested to 
hear it.” 

He opened the silver case and selected a fresh cig- 
arette, which, however, he did not light. Inspector 
Badger produced a funereal notebook, which he laid 
open on his knee; and the rest of us settled ourselves 
in our chairs with no little curiosity to hear Mr. Jelli- 
coe’s statement. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE END OF THE CASE 


A PROFOUND silence had fallen on the room and its 
occupants. Mr. Jellicoe sat with his eyes fixed on 
the table as if deep in thought, the unlighted cigarette 
in one hand, the other grasping the tumbler of water. 
Presently Inspector Badger coughed impatiently and 
he looked up. “I beg your pardon, gentleman,” he 
said. “I am keeping you waiting.” 

He took a sip from the tumbler, opened a match-box 
and took out a match, but apparently altering his mind, 
laid it down and commenced: 

“The unfortunate affair which has brought you here 
to-night, had its origin ten years ago. At that time my 
friend Hurst became suddenly involved in financial 
difficulties—am I speaking too fast for you, Mr. 
Badger?” 

“No, not at all,” replied Badger. “I am taking it 
down in shorthand.” 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Jellicoe. ‘He became in- 
volved in serious difficulties and came to me for assist- 
ance. He wished to borrow five thousand pounds to 
enable him to meet his engagements. I had a certain 
amount of money at my disposal, but I did not consider 
Hurst’s security satisfactory; accordingly I felt com- 
pelled to refuse. But on the very next day, John Bel- 
lingham called on me with a draft of his will which 
he wished me to look over before it was executed. 

328 


THE END OF THE CASE 329 


“Tt was an absurd will, and I nearly told him so; but 
then an idea occurred to me in connection with Hurst. 
It was obvious to me, as soon as I[ glanced through the 
will, that, if the burial clause was left as the testator 
had drafted it, Hurst had a very good chance of inher- 
iting the property; and, as I was named as the exec- 
utor I should be able to give full effect to that clause. 
Accordingly, I asked for a few days to consider the 
will, and then I called upon Hurst and made a pro- 
posal to him; which was this: That I should advance 
him five thousand pounds without security; that I 
should ask for no repayment, but that he should assign 
to me any interest that he might have or acquire in 
the estate of John Bellingham up to ten thousand 
pounds, or two-thirds of any sum that he might in- 
herit if over that amount. He asked if John had yet 
made any will, and I replied, quite correctly, that he 
had not. He inquired if I knew what testamentary 
arrangements John intended to make, and again I an- 
swered, quite correctly, that I believed John proposed 
to devise the bulk of his property to his brother, 
Godfrey. 

“Thereupon, Hurst accepted my proposal; I made 
him the advance and he executed the assignment. Af- 
ter a few days’ delay, I passed the will as satisfactory. 
The actual document was written from the draft by 
the testator himself; and a fortnight after Hurst had 
executed the assignment, John signed the will in my 
office. By the provisions of that will I stood an ex- 
cellent chance of becoming virtually the principal ben- 
eficiary, unless Godfrey should contest Hurst’s claim 
and the Court should override the conditions of clause 
two. 

“You will now understand the motives which gov- 


330 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


erned my subsequent actions. You will also see, Doc- 
tor Thorndyke, how very near to the truth your 
reasoning carried you; and you will understand, as I 
wish you to do, that Mr. Hurst was no party to any 
of these proceedings which I am about to describe. 

“Coming now to the interview in Queen Square in 
October, nineteen hundred and two, you are aware of 
the general circumstances from my evidence in Court, 
which was literally correct up to a certain point. The 
interview took place in a room on the third floor, in 
which were stored the cases which John had brought 
with him from Egypt. The mummy was unpacked, 
as were some other objects that he was not offering 
to the Museum, but several cases were still unopened. 
At the conclusion of the interview I accompanied Doc- 
tor Norbury down to the street door, and we stood on 
the doorstep conversing for perhaps a quarter of an 
hour. Then Doctor Norbury went away and I re- 
turned upstairs. 

“Now the house in Queen Square is virtually a mu- 
seum. The upper part is separated from the lower by 
a massive door which opens from the hall and gives 
access to the staircase and which is fitted with a Chubb 
night-latch. There are two latch-keys, of which John 
used to keep one and I the other. You will find them 
both in the safe behind me. The caretaker had no 
key and no access to the upper part of the house un- 
less admitted by one of us. 

‘“‘At the time when I came in, after Doctor Norbury 
had left, the caretaker was in the cellar, where I could 
hear him breaking coke for the hot-water furnace. I 
had left John on the third floor opening some of the 
packing-cases by the light of a lamp with a tool some- 
what like a plasterer’s hammer; that is, a hammer with 





THE END-OF THE CASE 331 


a small axe-blade at the reverse of the head. As I 
stood talking to Doctor Norbury, I could hear him 
knocking out the nails and wrenching up the lids; and 
when I entered the doorway leading to the stairs, I 
could still hear him. Just as I closed the staircase 
door behind me, I heard a rumbling noise from above; 
then all was still. 

“T went up the stairs to the second floor, where, as 
the staircase was all in darkness, I stopped to light the 
gas. As I turned to ascend the next flight, I saw a 
hand projecting over the edge of the half-way landing. 
I ran up the stairs, and there, on the landing, I saw 
John lying huddled up in a heap at the foot of the top 
flight. There was a wound at the side of his forehead 
from which a little blood was trickling. The case- 
opener lay on the floor close by him and there was 
blood on the axe-blade. When I looked up the stairs 
I saw a rag of torn matting over the top stair. 

“It was quite easy to see what had happened. He 
had walked quickly out on the landing with the case- 
opener in his hand. His foot had caught in the torn 
matting and he had pitched head foremost down the 
stairs still holding the case-opener. He had fallen so 
that his head had come down on the upturned edge of 
the axe-blade; he had then rolled over and the case- 
opener had dropped from his hand. 

“T lit a wax match and stooped down to look at him. 
His head was in a very peculiar position, which made 
me suspect that his neck was broken. ‘There was ex- 
tremely little bleeding from the wound; he was per- 
fectly motionless; I could detect no sign of breathing; 
and I felt no doubt that he was dead. 

“Tt was an exceedingly regrettable affair, and it 
placed me, as I perceived at once, in an extremely 


332 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


awkward position. My first impulse was to send the 
caretaker for a doctor and a policeman; but a mo- 
ment’s reflection convinced me that there were serious 
objections to this course. 

“There was nothing to show that I had not, myself, 
knocked him down with the case-opener. Of course, 
there was nothing to show that I had; but we were 
alone in the house with the exception of the caretaker, 
who was down in the basement out of earshot. 

“There would be an inquest. At the inquest inquir- 
ies would be made as to the will which was known to 
exist. But as soon as the will was produced, Hurst 
would become suspicious. He would probably make a 
statement to the coroner and I should be charged with 
the murder. Or, even if I were not charged, Hurst 
would suspect me and would probably repudiate the 
assignment; and, under the circumstances, it would be 
practically impossible for me to enforce it. He would 
refuse to pay and I could not take my claim into 
Court. 

“T sat down on the stairs just above poor John’s 
body and considered the matter in detail. At the 
worst, I stood a fair chance of hanging; at the best, I 
stood to lose close upon fifty thousand pounds. These 
were not pleasant alternatives. 

“Supposing, on the other hand, I concealed the body 
and gave out that John had gone to Paris. There was, 
of course, the risk of discovery, in which case I should 
certainly be convicted of the murder. But if no dis- 
covery occurred, I was not only safe from suspicion, 
but I secured the fifty thousand pounds. In either 
case there was considerable risk, but in one there was 
the certainty of loss, whereas in the other there was a 
material advantage to justify the risk. The question 


THE END OF THE CASE 333 


was whether it would be possible to conceal the body. 
If it were, then the contingent profit was worth the 
slight additional risk. But a human body is a very 
difficult thing to dispose of, especially by a person of so 
little scientific culture as myself. 

“Tt is curious that I considered this question for a 
quite considerable time before the obvious solution 
presented itself. I turned over at least a dozen meth- 
ods of disposing of the body, and rejected them all as 
impracticable. Then, suddenly, I remembered the 
mummy upstairs. 

“At first it only occurred to me as a fantastic pos- 
sibility that I could conceal the body in the mummy- 
case. But as I turned over the idea I began to see that 
it was really practicable; and not only practicable but 
easy; and not only easy but eminently safe. If once 
the mummy-case was in the Museum, I was rid of it 
for ever. 

“The circumstances were, as you, sir, have justly 
observed, singularly favorable. There would be no 
hue and cry, no hurry, no anxiety; but ample time for 
all the necessary preparations. Then the mummy-case 
itself was curiously suitable. Its length was ample, 
as I knew from having measured it. It was a carton- 
nage of rather flexible material and had an opening 
behind, secured with a lacing so that it could be opened 
without injury. Nothing need be cut but the lacing, 
which could be replaced. A little damage might be 
done in extracting the mummy and in introducing the 
deceased; but such cracks as might occur would be 
of no importance. For here again Fortune favored me. 
The whole of the back of the mummy-case was coated 
with bitumen, and it would be easy when once the de- 
ceased was safely inside to apply a fresh coat, which 


334 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


would cover up not only the cracks but also the new 
lacing. 

‘“‘After careful consideration, I decided to adopt the 
plan. JI went downstairs and sent the caretaker on 
an errand to the Law Courts. Then I returned and 
carried the deceased up to one of the third-floor rooms, 
where I removed his clothes and laid him out on a 
long packing-case in the position in which he would lie 
in the mummy-case. I folded his clothes neatly and 
packed them, with the exception of his boots, in a 
suit-case that he had been taking to Paris and which 
contained nothing but his nightclothes, toilet articles, 
and a change of linen. By the time I had done this 
and thoroughly washed the oilcloth on the stairs and 
landing, the caretaker had returned. I informed him 
that Mr. Bellingham had started for Paris and then I 
went home. The upper part of the house was, of 
course, secured by the Chubb lock, but I had also—ex 
abundantia cautele—locked the door of the room in 
which I had deposited the deceased. . 

“T had, of course, some knowledge of the methods of 
embalming, but principally of those employed by the 
ancients. Hence, on the following day, I went to the 
British Museum library and consulted the most recent 
works on the subject; and exceedingly interesting they 
were, as showing the remarkable improvements that 
modern knowledge has effected in this ancient art. I 
need not trouble you with details that are familiar to 
you. The process that I selected as the simplest for 
a beginner was that of formalin injection, and I went 
straight from the Museum to purchase the necessary 
materials. I did not, however, buy an embalming 
syringe: the book stated that an ordinary anatomical 


THE END OF THE CASE 335 


injecting syringe would answer the same purpose, and 
I thought it a more discreet purchase. 

“T fear that I bungled the injection terribly, although 
I had carefully studied the plates in a treatise on an- 
atomy—Gray’s, I think. However, if my methods 
were clumsy, they were quite effectual. I carried out 
the process on the evening of the third day; and when 
I locked up the house that night, I had the satisfaction 
of knowing that poor John’s remains were secure from 
corruption and decay. 

“But this was not enough. The great weight of a 
fresh body as compared with that of a mummy would 
be immediately noticed by those who had the handling 
of the mummy-case. Moreover, the damp from the 
body would quickly ruin the cartonnage and would 
cause a steamy film on the inside of the glass case in 
which it would be exhibited. And this would probably 
lead to an examination. Clearly, then, it was necessary 
that the remains of the deceased should be thoroughly 
dried before they were enclosed in the cartonnage. 

“Here my unfortunate deficiency in scientific knowl- 
edge was a great drawback. I had no idea how this 
result would be achieved and, in the end, was compelled 
to consult a taxidermist, to whom I represented that I 
wished to collect some small animals and reptiles and 
rapidly dry them for convenience of transport. By 
this person I was advised to immerse the dead animals 
in a jar of methylated spirit for a week and then ex- 
pose them in a current of warm, dry air. 

“But the plan of immersing the remains of the de- 
ceased in a jar of methylated spirit was obviously im- 
practicable. However, I bethought me that we had 
in our collection a porphyry sarcophagus, the cavity of 
which had been shaped to receive a small mummy in 


336 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


its case. I tried the deceased in the sarcophagus and 
found that he just fitted the cavity loosely. I obtained 
a few gallons of methylated spirit, which I poured into 
the cavity, just covering the body, and then I put on 
the lid and luted it down air-tight with putty. I trust 
I do not weary you with these particulars?” 

“T’ll ask you to cut it as short as you can, Mr. Jel- 
licoe,” said Badger. “It has been a long yarn and 
time is running on.” 

“For my part,” said Thorndyke, “I find these de- 
tails deeply interesting and instructive. They fill in 
the outline that I had drawn by inference.” 

“Precisely,” said Mr. Jellicoe, ‘then I will proceed.” 

“T left the deceased soaking in the spirit for a fort- 
night and then took him out, wiped him dry, and laid 
him on four cane-bottomed chairs just over the hot- 
water pipes, and I let a free current of air pass through 
the room. The result interested me exceedingly. By 
the end of the third day the hands and feet had become 
quite dry and shriveled and horny—so that the ring 
actually dropped off the shrunken finger—the nose 
looked like a fold of parchment; and the skin of the 
body was so dry and smooth that you-could have en- 
grossed a lease on it. For the first day or two I turned 
the deceased at intervals so that he should dry evenly, 
and then I proceeded to get the case ready. I divided 
the lacing and extracted the mummy with great care— 
with great care as to the case, I mean; for the mummy 
suffered some injury in the extraction. It was very 
badly embalmed, and so brittle that it broke in several 
places while I was getting it out; and when I unrolled it 
the head separated and both the arms came off. 

“On the sixth day after the removal from the sarco- 
phagus, I took the bandages that I had removed from 


THE END OF THE CASE 337 


Sebek-hotep and very carefully wrapped the deceased 
in them, sprinkling powdered myrrh and gum benzoin 
freely on the body and between the folds of the wrap- 
pings to disguise the faint odor of the spirit and the 
formalin that still lingered about the body. When the 
wrappings had been applied, the deceased really had 
a most workmanlike appearance; he would have looked 
quite well in a glass case even without the cartonnage, 
and I felt almost regretful at having to put him out of 
sight for ever. 

“Tt was a difficult business getting him into the case 
without assistance, and I cracked the cartonnage badly 
in several places before he was safely enclosed. But I 
got him in at last, and then, when I had closed up the 
case with a new lacing, I applied a fresh layer of bitu- 
men which effectually covered up the cracks and the 
new cord. A dusty cloth dabbed over the bitumen 
when it was dry disguised its newness, and the car- 
tonnage with its tenant was ready for delivery. I 
notified Doctor Norbury of the fact, and five days later 
he came and removed it to the Museum. 

“Now that the main difficulty was disposed of, I be- 
gan to consider the further difficulty to which you, sir, 
have alluded with such admirable perspicuity. It was 
necessary that John Bellingham should make one more 
appearance in public before sinking into final oblivion. 

“Accordingly, I devised the visit to Hurst’s house, 
which was calculated to serve two purposes. It cre- 
ated a satisfactory date for the disappearance, elim- 
inating me from any connection with it, and by throw- 
ing some suspicion on Hurst it would make him more 
amenable—less likely to dispute my claim when he 
learned the provisions of the will. 

“The affair was quite simple. I knew that Hurst 


338 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


had changed his servants since I was last at his house, 
and I knew his habits. On that day I took the suit- 
case to Charing Cross and deposited it in the cloak- 
room, called at Hurst’s office to make sure that he was 
there, and went from thence direct to Cannon Street 
and caught the train to Eltham. On arriving at the 
house, I took the precaution to remove my spectacles— 
the only distinctive feature of my exterior—and was 
duly shown into the study at my request. As soon as 
the housemaid had left the room I quietly let myself 
out by the French window, which I closed behind me 
but could not fasten, went out at the side gate and 
closed that also behind me, holding the bolt of the latch 
back with my pocket-knife so that I need not slam 
the gate to shut it. 

“The other events of that day, including the drop- 
ping of the scarab, I need not describe, as they are 
known to you. But I may fitly make a few remarks on 
the unfortunate tactical error into which I fell in re- 
spect of the bones. ‘That error arose, as you have 
doubtless perceived, from the lawyer’s incurable habit 
of underestimating the scientific expert. I had no 
idea mere bones were capable of furnishing so much 
information to a man of science. 

“The way in which the affair came about was this: 
the damaged mummy of Sebek-hotep, perishing grad- 
ually by exposure to the air, was not only an eyesore 
to me: it was a definite danger. It was the only re- 
maining link. between me and the disappearance. I 
resolved to be rid of it and cast about for some means 
of destroying it. And then, in an evil moment, the 
idea of utilizing it occurred to me. 

“There was an undoubted danger that the Court 
might refuse to presume death after so short an in- 


THE END OF THE CASE 339 


terval; and if the permission should be postponed, the 
will might never be administered during my lifetime. 
Hence, if these bones of Sebek-hotep could be made to 
simulate the remains of the deceased testator, a definite 
good would be achieved. But I knew that the entire 
skeleton could never be mistaken for his. The de- 
ceased had broken his knee-caps and damaged his 
ankle, injuries which I assumed would leave some per- 
manent trace. But if a judicious selection of the bones 
were deposited in a suitable place, together with some 
object clearly identifiable as appertaining to the de- 
ceased, it seemed to me that the difficulty would be 
met. I need not trouble you with details. The course 
which I adopted is known to you with the attendant 
circumstances, even the accidental detachment of the 
right hand—which broke off as I was packing the arm 
in my handbag. Erroneous as that course was, it 
would have been successful but for the unforeseen 
contingency of your being retained in the case. 

“Thus, for nearly two years, I remained in complete 
security. From time to time I dropped in at the Mu- 
seum to see if the deceased was keeping in good con- 
dition; and on those occasions I used to reflect with 
satisfaction on the gratifying circumstance—accidental 
though it was—that his wishes, as expressed (very im- 
perfectly) in clause two, had been fully complied with, 
and that without prejudice to my interests. 

“The awakening came on that evening when I saw 
you at the Temple gate talking with Doctor Berkeley. 
I suspected immediately that something was gone 
amiss and that it was too late to take any useful action. 
Since then, I have waited here in hourly expectation of 
this visit. And now the time has come. You have 


340 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


made the winning move and it remains only for me 
to pay my debts like an honest gambler.” 

He paused and quietly lit his cigarette. Inspector 
Badger yawned and put away his notebook. . 

“Have you done, Mr. Jellicoe?” the inspector asked. 
“I want to carry out my contract to the letter, you 
know, though it’s getting devilish late.” 

Mr. Jellicoe took his cigarette from his mouth and 
drank a glass of water. 

“TI forgot to ask,” he said, “whether you unrolled 
the mummy—if I may apply the term to the imper- 
fectly treated remains of my deceased client.” 

“T did not open the mummy-case,” replied Thorn- 
dyke. 

“You did not!” exclaimed Mr. Jellicoe. “Then how 
did you verify your suspicions?” 

“T took an X-ray photograph.” 

“Ah! Indeed!” Mr. Jellicoe pondered for some 
moments. “Astonishing!” he murmured; “and most 
ingenious. The resources of science at the present day 
are truly wonderful.” 

“Is there anything more that you want to an 
asked Badger; “because if you don’t, time’s up.” 

“Anything more?” Mr. Jellicoe repeated slowly; 
“anything more? No—I—think—think—the time—is 
—up. Yes—the—the—time——” 

He broke off and sat with a strange look fixed on 
Thorndyke. 

His face had suddenly undergone a curious change. 
It looked shrunken and cadaverous and his lips had 
assumed a peculiar cherry-red color. 

“Ts anything the matter, Mr. Jellicoe?” Badger 
asked uneasily. “Are you not feeling well, sir?” 

Mr. Jellicoe did not appear to have heard the ques- 


THE END OF THE CASE 341 


tion, for he returned no answer, but sat motionless, 
leaning back in his chair, with his hands spread out on 
the table and his strangely intent gaze bent on Thorn- 
dyke. 

Suddenly his head dropped on his breast and his 
body seemed to collapse; and as with one accord we 
sprang to our feet, he slid forward off his chair and 
disappeared under the table. 

“Good Lord! The man’s fainted!” exclaimed 
Badger. In a moment he was down on his hands and 
knees, trembling with excitement, groping under the 
table. He dragged the unconscious lawyer out into 
the light and knelt over him, staring into his face. 

“What’s the matter with him, Doctor?” he asked, 
looking up at Thorndyke. “Is it apoplexy? Or is it 
a heart attack, think you?” 

Thorndyke shook his head, though he stooped and 
put his fingers on the unconscious man’s wrist. 

“Prussic acid or potassium cyanide is what the ap- 
pearances suggest,” he replied. 

“But can’t you do anything?” demanded the in- 
spector. 

Thorndyke dropped the arm, which fell limply to the 
floor. 

“You can’t do much for a dead man,” he said. 

“Dead! Then he has slipped through our fingers af- 
ter all!” 

“He has anticipated the sentence. ‘That is all.” 
Thorndyke spoke in an even, impassive tone which — 
struck me as rather strange, considering the sudden- 
ness of the tragedy, as did also the complete absence 
of surprize in his manner. He seemed to treat the oc- 
currence as a perfectly natural one. 

Not so Inspector Badger; who rose to his feet and 


342 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


stood with his hands thrust into his pockets scowiing 
sullenly down at the dead lawyer. 

“T was an infernal fool to agree to his is condi- 
tions,” he growled savagely. 

“Nonsense, ” said Thorndyke. “If you had broken 
in you would have found a dead man. As it was you 
found a live man and obtained an important statement. 
You acted quite properly.” 

“How do you suppose he managed it?” asked 
Badger. 

Thorndyke held out his hand. 

“Let us look at his cigarette case,” said he. 

Badger extracted the little silver case from the dead 
man’s pocket and opened it. There were five cigarettes 
in it, two of which were plain, while the other three 
were gold-tipped. Thorndyke took out one of each 
kind and gently pinched their ends. The gold-tipped 
one he returned; the plain one he tore through, about 
a quarter of an inch from the end; when two little 
black tabloids dropped out on to the table. Badger 
eagerly picked one up and was about to smell it when 
Thorndyke grasped his wrist. ‘Be careful,” said he; 
and when he had cautiously sniffed at the tabloid— 
held at a safe distance from his nose—he added: “Yes, 
potassium cyanide. I thought so when his lips turned 
that queer color. It was in that last cigarette; you 
can see that he has bitten the end off.” 

For some time we stood silently looking down at the 
still form stretched on the floor. Presently Badger 
looked up. 

“As you pass the porter’s lodge on your way out,” 
said he, “you might just drop in and tell him to send a 
constable to me.” 

“Very well,” said Thorndyke. ‘And by the way, 


THE END OF THE CASE 343 


Badger, you had better tip that sherry back into the 
decanter and put it under lock and key, or else pour 
it out of the window.” 

“Gad, yes!” exclaimed the inspector. “I’m glad you 
mentioned it. We might have had an inquest on a 
constable as well as a lawyer. Good-night, gentlemen, 
if you are off.” 

We went out and left him with his prisoner—passive 
enough, indeed, according to his ambiguously worded 
promise. As we passed through the gateway Thorn- 
dyke gave the inspector’s message, curtly and without 
comment, to the gaping porter, and then we issued 
forth into Chancery Lane. 

We were all silent and very grave, and I thought that 
Thorndyke seemed somewhat moved. Perhaps Mr. 
Jellicoe’s last intent look—which I suspect he knew to 
be the look of a dying man—lingered in his memory as 
it did in mine. Half-way down Chancery Lane he 
spoke for the first time; and then it was only to ejac- 
ulate, ‘Poor devil!” 

Jervis took him up. “He was a consummate villain, 
Thorndyke.”’ 

“Hardly that,” was the reply. “I should rather say 
that he was non-moral. He acted without malice and 
without scruple or remorse. His conduct exhibited a 
passionateless expediency which was dreadful because 
utterly unhuman. But he was a strong man—a cour- 
ageous, self-contained man, and I had been better 
pleased if it could have been ordained that some other 
hand than mine should let the axe fall.” 

Thorndyke’s compunction may appear strange and 
inconsistent, but yet his feeling was also my own. 
Great as was the misery and suffering that this inscru- 
table man had brought into the lives of those I loved, 


344 THE EYE OF OSIRIS 


I forgave him; and in his downfall forgot the callous 
relentlessness with which he had pursued his evil pur- 
pose. For it was he who had brought Ruth into my 
life; who had opened for me the Paradise of Love 
into which I had just entered. And so my thoughts 
turned away from the still shape that lay on the floor 
of the stately old room in Lincoln’s Inn, away to the 
sunny vista of the future, where I should walk hand 
in hand with Ruth until my time, too, should come; 
until I, too, like the grim lawyer, should hear the 
solemn evening bell bidding me put out into the dark- 
ness of the silent sea. 














ee a ~ ans ened - <n. =a 
— es RO . ~ on - 2 i ~ - 
Se ove tied teem om iis —om — 
Se Te a dome — - = ——_ ° : 
rca ween raneemna = —< age worn — —— : ok 
sere agar ms aie svinmn Seine ~ — —_ 
2 aaerereenrieees a - - . — —— oeonrneas 
ea Sy Breen epee wn oan _ owe ~~ awe erp ee ge ae 
aay Sp enna re = oe cite Pewna = press nee anaes 
ae: <— an vee — ns ont ipenanentns: sapoe 
WR a7 EA aera = —~ —- <a « oe pooneaiee 
eat RPL i SND OW oe — ~ oar - = —- 2 ~ ates — = 
eaves ane = _ — = a se — 
a aT nee sre - ~ “a i 
pase sapere neneaeroon/ WS -” _ — : oe 
eee he ene = ~ ” * ~ 
——— ——— = — roar . 
SE oen - ve — tte ann neg 
eae - = = oe om 
rT, Ho nna — 
eee owe! — = 
rename —— ; 
es aaa man — — * - a 
eens -~ — - = = ar - 
i > — " = - - A 4 a — 
es oe — Be sea porins ~ — ra oon <agoenms vant 
a y ¥ oven ~ ne —— = - =a De — 
a ~ I ie A ST OE OE at —n ee = 
a Src t pone — =i pate toa aoe “- = Sere ae eee Po 
en a ate = _ —— — =e — nl = 
Raa ey ee AA — = - aera | ene ves none on einer par 
ee -~— ”- — - es ——_ -——- — 
aed reese Semen: — — aes — pe a. ee ee 
—~ aeons — : nie . Caeeratn — Pe ee navecenet : 
— — 5 - ~ 
ee eR SO - ‘=r ae pee pee ate - 
See ASRS ave —eannate ~ — os ere eee ome nl te 
eee ~ - ne 5 eee cae > Seen letra 
a ae — Sentry etn idiin teat ine 
PIE ASEAN — — = ew — ee 
eee aban taineaip loin — na Eee 
“e ~ omens = bos ~ ee rec 
-< = > ~ - aad Seed 


